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THE 

BOOK OF AUTHORS. 



A COLLECTION OF 

CRITICISMS, ANA, MOTS, PERSONAL DESCRIPTIONS, 

ETC. ETC. ETC. 



WHOLLY REFERRING TO 

ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS IN EVERY AGE OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 




LONDON : 

FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. 

BEDFORD STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 
NEW YORK: SCRTBNER. WE L FORD AND CO. 




LONDON : 

SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., TRTNTERS, CHANDOS STREET, 
COVENT GARDEN. 



PREFACE. 



The design of this collection is to present to the reader 
specimens of some of the smart and piquant things that have 
been said by literary men and women of one another. The 
collection, as the title sets forth, is wholly restricted to English 
literature. 

Among English writers will be found names more generally 
associated with painting, music, the senate, and the stage. 
These names, as in the case of Hogarth, Reynolds, Burke, 
Macklin, Foote, and others, have been admitted without re- 
ference to vocation. 

Of Divines not many have been included. The most familiar 
names in English Church History are eminent rather by their 
acts and by the example of their lives than by their writings. 
A few American authors have been inserted. Room would 
have been found for more could more criticisms have been 
collected. 

There are many recent and living authors to whose names I 
should have been glad to have subjoined more criticisms than 
will be found. There are also many recent and living authors 
whose names I have with great reluctance omitted from simple 
inability to procure requisite testimonies. Anonymous criticism 
I could have procured in abundance ; but anonymous criticisms 
I have, with few exceptions, rejected. Of the periodicals I have 



iv 



Preface, 



quoted, the earlier numbers have been selected in preference to 
the later, for reasons immediately obvious, when the lists of their 
original contributors are examined. 

Let me express the desire that in no case will the standard 
of merit suggested by this book be estimated by the space 
allotted to the criticisms on each author. Choice has been 
regulated not by the will but by the materials. 

When unfamiliar authors have been quoted I have had regard 
to the good things their bad or middling productions have pro- 
voked from clever men. It must be remembered that Shadwell 
suggested Macflecknoe," and that to Theobald we probably owe 
the Dunciad." I may also add that the criticisms of middling 
wrriters have been quoted only when the writings of the authors 
under discussion have been neglected by those whose opinions 
would be worth adducing. 

Whenever I have been embarrassed by a multitude of testi- 
monies I have preferred the remarks of contemporaries. I 
have endeavoured, so far as I found possible, to make this work 
in its selections representative. Although many names in this 
volume will be found new to the general reader, he may believe 
that of their age they were really among the representative 
writers in whose productions will be found the Hterary character 
of their times. ^ 



^ The reader is desired to correct two obvious errors which were detected 
when it was too late to rectify them — i.e. (page i8, Lord Dorset), for 
1536-1608 read 1637-1706. (Page 146), the quotations from Hume and 
Bishop Burnet apply to the first Earl of Shaftesbury, and not to the author 
of the ''Characteristics," who was the third Earl. 



ERRATA. 

Page \\6, for Walter Bryan Procter, Bryan Waller Procter. 



THE 



BOOK OF AUTHORS. 



Roger Bacon. 
1214-1292. 

The resemblance between Roger Bacon and his great name- 
sake is very remarkable. Whether Lord Bacon ever read the 
" Opus Majus" I know not, but it is singular that his favourite 
quaint expression, p?^cerogativce scientiarum, should be found in 
that work, though not used with the same allusion to the Roman 
Comitia. And whoever reads the sixth part of the " Opus 
Majus" upon experimental science, must be struck by it as the 
prototype in spirit of the " Novum Organum." — Hallaiu. 

Our great Roger Bacon, by a degree of penetration which 
perhaps has never been equalled, discovered some of the most 
occult secrets in Nature. She seems indeed — if I may so ex- 
press myself — to have stood naked before him. His honours 
have been stolen from him by more modern authors, who have 
appeared inventors when they were copying Bacon. Yet, for 
the reward of all his intense studies, the holy brethren and the 
infallible majesty of Rome occasioned him to languish in prison 
during the greater part of his life. — Z D' Israeli. 

His are wonderful discoveries for a man to make in so igno- 
rant an age, who had no master to teach him, but struck it all 
out of his own brain ; but it is still more wonderful that such 
discoveries should be so long concealed ; till in the next suc- 
ceeding centuries other people should start up and layxlaim to 
those very inventions to which Bacon alone had a right. — Dr, 
Friend. 

Bacon discovered the art of making reading-glasses, the 
camera obscura, microscopes, telescopes, and various other 



2 



Roger Bacon — John Goiver, 



mathematical and astronomical instruments. He discovered a 
method of performing all the chymical operations that are now 
in use. He combined the mechanical powers in so wonderful 
a manner, that it was for this he was accused of magic. His 
discoveries in medicine were by no means unimportant. That 
the ingredients of gunpowder and the art of making it were well 
known to him is now undeniable \ but the humane philosopher^ 
dreading the consequences of communicating this discovery to 
the world, transposed the letters of the Latin words which signify 
charcoal, which made the whole obscure. — Henry, 

John Gowen 
1320-1402. 

Gower stamped with the force of ethical reasoning his smooth 
rhymes ] and this was a near approach to poetry itself If in 
the mind of Chaucer we are more sensible of the impulses of 
genius — those creative and fugitive touches — his diction is more 
mixed and unsettled than the tranquil elegance of Gower. — 
I, Ulsj^aeli. 

The almost worthless Gov^tr— Coleridge, 

He is always polished, sensible, perspicuous, and not prosaic 
in the reproachful sense of the word. — Hallam. 

He was a man of varied learning, but far inferior to Chaucer 
in the natural qualities of a true poet. — Scrymegeour. 

If Chaucer had not existed the compositions of John Gower, 
the next poet in succession, would alone have been sufficient to 
have rescued the reigns of Edward III. and Richard II. from 
the imputations of barbarism. — Warton. 

The first of our authors who can properly be said to have 
written English was Sir John Gower, who in his " Confession of 
a Lover" calls Chaucer his disciple, and may therefore be 
considered as the father of our poetry. — -Johnson, 

The " moral Gower " was Chaucer's friend, and inherited his 
tediousness and pedantry, without a sparkle of his fancy, passion, 
humour, wisdom, and good spirits. — Alexander Smith. 



3 



Geoffrey Chaucer. 
1328-1400. 

In all his works he excelleth, in mine opinion, all other 
writers in our English, for he writeth in void words, but all his 
matter is full of high and quick sentence, to whom ought to be 
given laud and praise for his noble making and writing.— 
CaxtoiL 

Redith his werkis ful of plesaunce, 

Clere in sentence, in langage excellent. 

Briefly to wryte suche was his suftysaunce, 

What ever to saye he tooke in his entente 

His langage was so fayr and pertynente 

It semeth unto mannys heerynge 

Not only the worde but verely the thynge. — Ibid. 

As he is the father of English poetry, so I hold him in the 
same degree of veneration as the Grecians held Homer or the 
Romans Virgil; he is a perpetual fountain of good sense, 
learned in all sciences, and therefore speaks properly on all 
subj ects. — Dryde?i, 

Chaucer followed Nature everywhere, but was never so bold 
as to go beyond her. — Ibid. 

Chaucer, notwithstanding the praises bestowed on him, I 
think obscene and contemptible ; he owes his celebrity merely 
to his antiquity, which he does not deserve so well as Pierce 
Plowman or Thomas of Ercildoune. — Byron. 

They who look into Chaucer . . will find his comic vein, 
like that of Shakspeare, to be only like one of mercury 
imperceptibly mingled with a mine of gold. — Warton. 

Chaucer his sense can only boast, 

The glory of his numbers lost ! 

Years have defac'd his matchless strain. 

And yet he did not sing in vain. — Waller. 

Him who first with harmony inform'd 
The language of our fathers. — Akenside. 

The afi'ecting parts of Chaucer are almost aiways expressed 
in language pure and universally intelligible even to this day. — 
Wordsiuorth. 

See how Chaucer exhibits to us all that lay around him, the 

B 2 



Geoffrey Chancer. 



roughness and ignorance, the honour, faith, fancy, joyousness \ 
of a strong mind and a strong age, both tranquil within bounds | 
which, as large enough for their uses, neither had tried to i 
pass. How strikingly for us are those grating contrasts of ; 
social condition harmonized by the home-bred feeling that | 
men as they then were had the liberty and space they then ; 
needed : the king and priest the all-sufficient guides of men's 
higher life, and all powers and even wishes finding ample ' 
room, each within the range marked out by custom ! Every ; 
figure is struck off by as clear and cutting a stroke as that 
of a practised mower with his scythe. — Qiiarterly Review. 

In serious and moral poetry he is frequently languid and 
diffuse ; but he springs like Antaeus from the earth, when his 
subject changes to coarse satire or merry narrative. — Hallam. 

His words point as an index to the objects like the eye or 
finger. There were none of the commonplaces of poetic 
diction in our author's time ; no reflected lights of fancy ; 
no borrowed roseate tints ; he was obliged to inspect things i 
for himself : to look narrowly : almost to handle the object. 
Chaucer had an equal eye for truth of nature and dis- 
crimination of character 3 and his interest in what he saw gave 
new distinctness and force to what he did. — Hazlitt, 

Chaucer seems to have been a right Wicklevian, or else there 
never was any ; and that, all his works almost, if they be 
thoroughly advised, will testify (albeit it be done in mirth and 
covertly), and especially the latter end of his third book of the 
Testament of love \ for there purely he toucheth the highest 
matter, that is, the Communion ; wherein, except a man be 
altogether blind, he may espy him at the full. — -John Fox. ' 

The first of our versifiers who wrote poetically. He does 
not, however, appear to have deserved all the praise he has ; 
received, or all the censure that he has suffered. Skinner 
blames him in harsh terms for having vitiated his native speech 
by whole cartloads of foreign words. But he that reads the 
works of Gower will find smooth numbers and easy rhymes, of ! 
which Chaucer is supposed to be the inventor, and the French ( 
words, whether good or bad, of which Chaucer is charged as : 
the importer. — Johnson. j 

For a hundred beautiful pictures of genuine English existence j 
and English character, for a world of persons and things that 1 
have snatched us from the present to their society, for a host ' 
of wise and experience-fraught maxims, for many a tear shed 



Geoffrey Chatieer — Williavi Langland. 5 



and emotion revived, and laugh of merriment, for many a 
happy hour and bright remembrance, we thank thee, Dan 
Chaucer, and just thanks shalt thou receive a thousand years 
hence. — W, Hoiuitt. 

William Langland. 
14th century. 

He is a great satirist, touching with caustic invective or keen 
irony pubhc abuses and private vices, but in the depth of his 
emotions and wildness of imagination he breaks forth in the 
solemn tones and in the sombre majesty of Dante. — 
/ n Israeli, 

The first EngHsh Avriter who can be read with approbation 
f is William Langland, the author of Piers Plowman's Vision," a 
severe satire upon the clergy. Though his measure is more 
uncouth than that of his predecessors, there is real energy in 
his conceptions, which he caught, not from the chimeras of 
knight-errantry, but the actual manners and opinions of his 
times. — Hallam. 

John Skelton. 
1460-1529. 

His eccentricity in attempts at humour is at once vulgar and 
flippant ; and his style is almost a texture of slang phrases 
patched with shreds of French and Latin. — Thomas Campbell , 
Beastly Skelton. — Pope. 

His buffooneries, like those of Rabelais, were thrown out as 
a tub to the whale ; for unless Skelton had written thus for the 
coarsest palates, he could not have poured forth his bitter and 
undaunted satire in such perilous times. — Sotithey. 

Skelton is the father of English doggrel. — Quarterly RevieuK 
Skelton's characteristic vein of humour is capricious and 
grotesque. If his whimsical extravagancies ever move our 
laughter, at the same time they shock our sensibility. His 
festive levities are not only vulgar and indelicate, but frequently 
want truth and propriety. His subjects are often as ridiculous 
as his metre ; but he sometimes debases his matter by his ver- 
sification. On the whole, his genius seems better suited to low 
burlesque than to liberal and manly satire. It is supposed by 



6 



Jolm Skelton— William Dunbar. 



Caxton that he improved our language 5 but he sometimes 
affects obscurity, and sometimes adopts the most famiHar 
jDhraseology of the common people. — Warto7i. 

He was a rude, rayling rimer, and all his doings ridiculous.— 
Piittenhanu 

William Dunbar. 
1465-1535- 

The greatest poet that Scotland has produced. — Ellis. 

Dunbar has been too little known. His works remained, till 
a comparatively recent period, buried in manuscript. He is a 
varied and powerful writer ; great alike in descriptive, didactic, 
and humourous poetry ; and rich in the knowledge of men and 
life. — Scrymegeonr. 

The first thing that strikes the reader of these (Dunbar's) 
poems is their variety and intellectual range. It may be said 
that — partly from constitutional turn of thought, partly from the 
chaotic and turbulent time in which he lived, when families 
rose to splendour and as suddenly collapsed ; when the steed 
that bore his rider to the hunting-field in the morning returned 
at evening masterless to the garden-gate — Dunbar's prevailing 
mood of mind is melancholy : that he, with a certain fondness 
for the subject, as if it gave him actual relief, moralized over 
the sandy foundations of moral prosperity, the advance of age 
putting out the light of youth, and cancelfing the rapture of the 
lover, and the certainty of death. This is a favourite part of 
contemplation with him, and he pursues it with a gloomy 
sedateness of acquiescence which is more affecting than if he 
raved and foamed against the inevitable. But he has the 
mobility of the poetic nature, and the sad ground-tone is often 
drowned in the ecstasy of lighter notes. — Alexander Smith, 

Sir Thomas More. 
1480-1535. 

He was a man of rare virtues and excellent parts. In his 
youth he had freer thoughts of things, as appears by his " Utopia" 
and his ''Letters to Erasmus;" but afterwards he became supersti- 
tiously devoted to the interests and passions of the popular 



Sir Thomas More. 



7 



clergy ; and as he served them when he was in authority, even 
to assist them in all their cruelties, so he employed his pen in 
the same cause, both in writing against all the new opinions in 
general, and in particular against Tindal, Frith, and Barnes. 
More was no divine at all ; and it is plain to any that read his 
writings that he knew nothing of antiquity beyond the quota- 
tions he found in the common law and in the Master of the 
Sentences (only he had read some of St. Austin's treatises). — 
Burnet 

For justice, contempt of money, humility, and a true gene- 
rosity of mind, he was an example to the age in which he 
lived. — Ibid. 

This great and learned man was famous for enlivening his 
ordinary discourses with wit and pleasantry ; and as Erasmus 
tells him in an Epistle Dedicatory, acted in all parts of life like 
a second Democritus. He died upon a point of religion, and 
is respected as a martyr by that side for which he suffered.— 
Addiso7L 

Sir Thomas More's character, both in public and private, 
comes as near to perfection as our nature will permit ; and I 
must think that in weighing it there has been too much conces- 
sion on the score that the splendour of his great qualities was 
obscured by intolerance and superstition ; and that he volun- 
tarily sought his death by violating a law which with a safe 
conscience he might have obeyed. We Protestants must 
lament that he was not a convert to the doctrines of the Re- 
formation. — Lord Ca7npheU. 

With all my Protestant zeal I must feel a higher reverence 
for Sir Thomas More than Thomas Cromwell or Cranmer. — • 
Ibid 

When we reflect that Sir Thomas More was ready to die for 
the doctrine of Transubstantiation, we cannot but feel some 
doubt whether the doctrine of Transubstantiation may not 
triumph over all opposition. More was a man of eminent 
talents. He had all the information of the subject that we 
have, or that while the world lasts any human being will have. 
The text " This is my body " was in his New Testament as it 
is in ours. The absurdity of the literal interpretation was as 
great and as obvious in the sixteenth century as it is now. No 
progress that science has made, or will make, can add to what 
seems to us the overwhelming force of the argument against the 
Real Presence, We are therefore unable to understand why 



8 



Sir Thoinas More. 



what Sir Thomas More beHeved respecting Transubstantia- 
tion may not be beheved to the end of time by men equal in 
abiUties and honesty to Sir Thomas More. But Sir Thomas More 
is one of the choice specimens of human wisdom and virtue ; 
and the doctrine of Transubstantiation is a kind of proof charge. 
A faith that stands that test will stand any test. — Macaulay. 

It appears from Ben Jonson that his Works were considered 
as models of pure and elegant style. — Johnson. 

There was but one wit in England, and that was young 
Thomas M^oxt— Collet, 

Crom. Sir Thomas More is chosen 

Lord Chancellor in your place. 

Wols, That's somewhat sudden ; 

But he's a learned man. May he continue 
Long in his Highness's favour, and do justice 
For truth's sake, and his conscience.^ — Shakspeare. 

When More some time had Chancellor been, 

No more suits did remain : 
The same shall never more be seen 

Till MORE be there d^gdjin,— Old Prophecy. 

He was of a middle stature, well proportioned, of a pale 
complexion ; his hair of chestnut colour, his eyes grey, his 
countenance mild and cheerful ; his voice not very musical, but 
clear and distinct ; his constitution, which was good originally, 
was never impaired by his way of living, otherwise than by too 
much study. His diet was simple and abstemious, never 
drinking any wine but when he pledged those who drank to 
him j and rather mortifying than indulging his appetite in what 
he ate. — More. 

Sir Thomas More set out as a philosopher and reformer ; but 
the coarseness, turbulence, and bloody contests of Lutheranism 
having frightened him, this most upright and merciful man be- 
came a persecutor of men as innocent, though not of such 
great minds, as himself. He predicted that the Reformation 
would produce universal vice, ignorance, and barbarism. The 
events of a few years seemed to countenance his prophecy, 
but those of three centuries have belied it. His character is a 
most important example of the best man espousing the worst 



^ Wolsey really said "that he was the fittest man to be his successor."- 



Sir Thomas More. 



9 



cause, and supporting it even by bad actions — which is the 
greatest lesson of charity that can be taught. — Sir yames 
Mackintosh, 

One of the marvels of More was his infinite variety. He 
could write epigrams in a hair shirt at the Carthusian convent ; 
and pass from translating Ltician to lecturing on Aicgustine in 
the church of St. Lawrence. Devout almost to superstition, 
he was lighthearted almost to buffoonery. One hour we see 
him encouraging Erasmus in his love of Greek and the new 
learning, or charming with his ready wit the supper-tables of 
the Court, or turning a debate in Parliament ; the next at 
home, surrounded by friends and familiar servants, by wife and 
children, and children's children, dwelling among them in an 
atmosphere of love and music, prayers and irony — throwing 
the rein, as it were, on the neck of his most careless fancies, 
and condescending to follow out the humours of his monkey 
and the fool. His fortune was almost as various. From his 
utter indifference to show and money, he must have been a 
strange successor to Wolsey. He had thought as httle about 
fame as Shakspeare ; yet in the next generation it was an honour 
to an Englishman throughout Europe to be the countryman 
of More. — ■Edi7ihii7'gh Revieiu^ 1846. 

He was a learned, wise, and exceeding good man ; extremely 
bigoted to the errors of Popery, which first made him the per- 
secutor of the Protestants, and in the end cost him his life. 
Excepting in this instance, his character was almost faultless. 
He had every accomplishment of his time and every virtue of 
humanity. He had a passionate love for learning and learned 
men. His own writings are esteemed the most elegant and 
masterly of any of that age. The liveliness of his wit and his 
zeal for Popery caused him to treat the persons he wrote 
against with more acrimony than was natural to his temper. 
But his controversial pieces, which are large and numerous (for 
he was the chief person who appeared in that controversy), are 
to be admired even at this day for their good sense, the plausi- 
biUty of his argumentation, the sprightliness of his fancy, and 
the elegance of his raillery. If truth had not lain so evidently 
as it did on the side of Protestantism, such an adversary, in its 
first appearance, must have given considerable check to it.— 
Bishop Hvrd, 



10 



Archbishop Cranmen 
1489-1556. 

He was a man raised of God for great services, and well 
fitted for them. He was naturally of a mild and gentle temper, 
not soon heated, nor apt to give his opinion rashly of things or; 
persons ; and yet his gentleness, tho' it oft exposed him to 
his enemies, who took advantages from it to use him ill, knowing 
he would readily forgive them, did not lead him into such a 
weakness of spirit as to consent to everything that was upper- 
most. ... He was a man of great candour ; he never dissembled 
his opinion, nor disowned his friends. — Burnet. 

If we weigh the character of this prelate in an equal balance 
he will appear far indeed removed from the turpitude imputed 
to him by his enemies, yet not entitled to any extraordinary 
veneration. — Hallani. 

If we consider Cranmer merely as a statesman he will not 
appear a much worse man than Wolsey, Gardiner, Cromwell, or 
Somerset. But when an attempt is made to set him up as a 
saint it is scarcely possible for any man of sense who knows the 
history of the times to preserve his gravity. — -Macaulay^ 
" Essays r 

He was at once a divine and a statesman. In his character 
of divine he was perfectly ready to go as far in the way of 
change as any Swiss or Scottish reformer. In his character of 
statesman he was desirous to preserve that organization which 
had, during many ages, admirably served the purposes of 
the bishops of Rome, and might be expected now to serve 
equally well the purposes of the English kings, and of their 
ministers. His temper and his understanding eminently fitted 
him to act as a mediator. Saintly in his professions, un- 
scrupulous in his dealings, zealous for nothing, bold in specu- 
lation, a coward and a time-server in action, a placable enemy 
and a lukewarm friend, he was in every way qualified to 
arrange the terms of the coalition between the religious and the 
worldly enemies of Popery. — Macaulafs ^'•History of EnglandJ'^ 

He was undoubtedly a man of merit, possessed of learning 
and capacity, and adorned with candour, sincerity, and bene- 
ficence, and all those virtues which were fitted to render him 
useful and amiable in society. His moral quaHties procured 
him universal respect ; and the courage of his martyrdom, 



Archbisllop Cramner—Sir David Lindsay. 1 1 



I though he fell short of the right inflexibihty observed in many, 
made him the hero of the Protestant party. — Hume. 

An unquestionably learned, humane, charitable, and pious 
man. His nature was singularly frank and open. His zeal 
for pure religion as delivered in the Gospel was ardent; yet he 
was too fearful and compliant in some things against his own 
; better judgment. Perhaps the sense of great obligations to 
' Henry, as well as the resolute, vindictive temper of that prince, 
was sometimes a snare to him. He was by temper mild and 
moderate, sincere and constant in his friendships, and a great 
favourer of learning and learned men. It is no wonder his 
notions of Christian liberty were in those times imperfect, 
which made him, against the natural bent of his mind, in 
some few instances a persecutor. It is but of late we have 
understood the doctrine of toleration in its full extent. His 
greatest failing was his recantation at Oxford, the effect of a 
natural constitutional timidity, which yet he repaired as well as 
he could by giving the sincerest marks of repentance. On the 
whole, he lived in trying times, and was, with the exception of 
a few faults, an eminently great and good man. — Bishop Hnrd, 

Sir David Lindsay. 
1490-1557- 

He was esteemed one of the first poets of the age, and his 
writings had contributed greatly to the advancement of the 
Reformation. Notwithstanding the indelicacy which disfigures 
several of his poetical productions, the personal deportment of 
Lindsay was grave ; his morals were correct ; and his writings 
discover a strong desire to reform the manners of the age, as 
well as ample proofs of true poetical genius, extensive learning, 
and wit the most keen and penetrating. He had long lashed 
the vices of the clergy, and exposed the absurdities and super- 
stitions of Popery, in the most popular and poignant satires, 

I being protected by James V., who retained a strong attach- 
ment to the companion of his early sports and the poet who 

! had often amused his leisure hours. — Dr, Thomas M^Crie} 



^ Of early satirists Lindsay seems to have been the most efficacious. That 
the Reformation in Scotland was accelerated by the influence of his com- 
positions is certain. His poems, we are told, were read by "every man, 



i 



12, 



Sir David Lindsay — Roger Ascham. 



Lyndsay had prepared the ground and John Knox only ; 
sowed the seed. — Fi?ikerton. 

The name of Lindsay has been cherished by the Scottish^ 
people with peculiar affection. His language is their vernacular ; 
dialect, patent to all their associations and famiHar feelings. 
His themes, while they embrace subjects of interest to all 
humanity, have still an aim peculiarly and immediately Scottish. I 
Few of his pieces boast many of the charms which we associate ; 
with the term " poetry but graphicness of painting, pungency of| 
sarcasm, and depth of wisdom and reflection are qualities which j 
secure to Lindsay perpetual admiration. — D, Scrymegeotir, 

Roger Ascham. 
1505-1568. 

The first book which can be worth naming at all is Ascham's 
Schoolmaster," published in 1570, and probably written some 
years before. Ascham is plain and strong in his style, but 



woman, and child. " An anecdote illustrative of this influence (recorded 
by a Scotch biographer of John Knox) is worth repeating : — 

*' Some time between 1550 and 1558 a friar was preaching at Perth in 
the church where the scholars of Andrew Simson attended public worship. 
In the course of his sermon, after relating some of the miracles wrought 
at the shrine of the saints, he began to inveigh bitterly against the Lutheran 
preachers, who were going about the countiy and endeavouring to withdraw 
the people from the Catholic faith. When he was in the midst of his 
invective a loud hissing arose in that part of the church where the boys, to 
the number of three hundred, were seated, so that the friar, abashed and 
affrighted, broke off his discourse and fled from the pulpit. A complaint 
having been made to the master, he instituted an inquiry into the cause of 
the disturbance, and to his astonishment found that it originated with the 
son of a craftsman in the town, who had a copy of Lindsay's 'Monarchies,' 
which he had read at intervals to his schoolfellows. When the master was ; 
about to administer severe chastisement to him, both for the tumult which 
he had occasioned and also for retaining in his possession such a heretical 
book, the boy veiy spiritedly replied that the book was not heretical, re- 1 
quested his master to read it, and professed his readiness to submit to ; 
punishment, provided any heresy was found in it. This proposal appeared 
so reasonable to Simson, that he perused the work, which he had not for- \ 
merly seen, and was convinced of the truth of the boy's statement. He 
accordingly made the best excuse which he could to the magistrates for the 
behaviour of his scholars, and advised the friar to abstain in future from 
extolling miracles and from abusing the Protestant preachers. From that 
time Simson was friendly to the Reformation."- — MS, History of the Kirk. — 
Ed. 



Roger Aschain — John Knox, 



13 



y Without grace or warmth ; his sentences have no harmony of 
structure. He stands, however, as far as I have seen, above all 
^ other writers in the first half of the Queen's (EHzabeth) reign. 
J" — Hallain, 

There was a primitive honesty and a kindly innocence about 
this good old scholar which gave a personal interest to the 
• |homeliest details of his life. He had the rare felicity of passing 
' through the worst of times without persecution and without 
f dishonour. He lived with princes and princesses, prelates and 
1 diplomatists, without offence and without ambition. Though 
he enjoyed the smiles of royalty, his heart was none the worse, 
and his fortune little the better. He had that disposition 
which, above all things, qualifies the conscientious and success- 
ful teacher ; for he delighted rather to discover and call forth 
the talents of others than to make a display of his own. — 
Hartley Coleridge, 

I never knew a man live more honestly nor die more Chris- 
tianly. — Dr. NowelL 

I had rather have thrown ten thousand pounds into the sea 
than have lost my Ascham. — Qiieen Elizabeth. 

Haddon and Ascham, the pride of Elizabeth's reign, how- 
ever they have succeeded in prose, no sooner attempt verse 
than they provoke derision. — Dr. yohnson. 

It must be owned that Ascham contributed very much to 
refine and improve the language, and as he was an eminent 
scholar, to bring the practice of writing it into repute. — Dr, 
Htird. 

John Knox. 
1505-1572. 

I Zeal, intrepidity, disinterestedness, were virtues which he 
possessed in an eminent degree. He was acquainted too with 
the learning cultivated in that age j and excelled in that species 
of eloquence which is calculated to rouse and to inflame. His 
maxims, however, were often too severe, and the impetuosity of 
his temper excessive. Rigid and uncomplying himself, he 
showed no indulgence to the infirmities of others. Regardless 
of the distinctions of rank and character, he uttered his admoni- 
tions with an acrimony and vehemence more to irritate than to 
reclaim. This often betrayed him into indecent and undutiful 
expressions with respect to the Queen's person and conduct. 



yolin Knox, 



Those very qualities, however, which now render his character 
less amiable, fitted him to be the instrument of Providence for 
advancing the Reformation among a fierce people, and enabled 
him to face dangers, and to surmount opposition, from which a 
person of a more gentle spirit would have been apt to shrink 
back. By an umvearied application to study and to business, 
as well as by the frequency and fervour of his public discourses, 
he had worn out a constitution naturally strong. During a lin- 
gering illness, he discovered the utmost fortitude, and met the 
approaches of death with a magnanimity inseparable from his 
character. — Robertson. 

The ringleader in all these insults on Majesty was John 
Knox, who possessed an uncontrolled authority in the Church, 
and even in the civil affairs of the nation, and who triumphed 
in the contumelious usage of his sovereign. The political prin- 
ciples of the man, which he communicated to his brethren, were 
as full of sedition as his theological were full of rage and bigotry. 
. . . His conduct showed that he thought no more civility than 
loyalty due to any of the female sex. — David Htime. 

That fals apostat priest, 
Enemie to Christ, and mannis (man's) salvation. 
Your Maister ILwox.—JVicol Burne. 

A fanatical incendiary— a holy savage — the son of violence 
and barbarism — the religious Sachem of religious Mohawks. — 
Whitaker. 

Of all the benefits I had that year (iS7i) was the coming of 
that maist notable profet and apostle of our nation, Mr. Johne 
Knox, to St. Andrews, who, be the faction of the Queen occu- 
peing the castell and town of Edinburgh, was compellit to 
remove therefra, with a number of the best and chusit to come 
to St. Andrews. I heard him teache there the prophecies of 
Daniel, that simmar and the wintar following. I had my pen 
and my little buike, and tuk away sic things as I could compre- 
hend. In the opening up of his text, he was moderat the space 
of an half hour ; but when he enterit to application, he made me 
so to grew (thrill) and tremble, that I could not hald a pen to 
writ. He was very weik. I saw him, everie day of his doctrine, 
go hulie and fear (slowly and warily) with a furring of masticks 
about his neck, a staffe in the an hand, and gud, godlie Richard 
Ballenden, his servand, haldin up the other oxter (arm-pit) from 
the abbey to the parish-kirk, and he, the said Richard; and 



John Knox. 



IS 



another servand lifted up to the pulpit, whar he behovit to 
lean at his first entry : bot, er he haid done with his sermone, 
he was sa active and vigorous, that he was lyk to ding the 
pulpit in blads (beat the pulpit in pieces) and flie out of it. — 
yames Melville^ Diary, '''^ 

God is my witness, whom I have served in the spirit in the 
gospel of his Son, that I have taught nothing but the true and 
solid doctrine of the gospel of the Son of God, and have had it 
for my only object to instruct the ignorant, to confirm the 
faithful, to comfort the weak, the fearful, and the distressed, by 
the promises of grace, and to fight against the proud and rebel- 
Hous by the Divine threatenings. I know that many have 
frequently complained, and do still complain, of my too great 
severity ; but God knows that my mind was always void of 
hatred to the persons of those against whom I thundered the 
severest judgments. — yohn K710X. 

The light of Scotland, the comfort of the Church within the 
same, the mirror of godliness, and pattern and example to all 
true ministers in purity of life, soundness of doctrine, and bold- 
ness in reproving of wickedness. — Bajuiatyme. 

I know not if ever so much piety and genius were lodged in 
so weak and frail a body. Certain I am that it will be difficult 
to find one in whom the gifts of the Holy Spirit shone so 
bright, to the comfort of the Church of Scotland.— vS;;/^/(?//. 

A man of wit, much good learning, and earnest zeal. — - 
Ridley, " Strype's Life of Grindair 

Knox bore a striking resemblance to Luther in personal 
intrepidity and in popular eloquence. He approached nearest 
to Calvin in his religious sentiments, in the severity of his 
manners, and in a certain impressive air of melancholy which 
pervaded his character, and he resembled Zwingleius in his 
ardent attachment to the principles of civil liberty, and in com- 
bining his exertions for the reformation of the Church with 
uniform endeavours to improve the political state of the people. 
~Dr, Thomas M'Crie^ 



^ Mr. Melville was a Doctor of Divinity, and as long as episcopal per= 
secution admitted, did sit with great renown in the prime chair we had of 
that faculty. " — Baillie. 

^ Oi all Knox's publications, the most famous in its day wasr *'The 
First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women." 
The admission of women to the government of nations is in this attacked 
with extraordinary and by no means illogical vehemence. To promote a 



1 6 John Knox — George Btichanan, 



I happened to ask where John Knox was buried. Dr. 
Johnson burst out, ^^I hope in the highway. I have been 
looking at his reformations." — Boswell} 

George Buchanan. 
1506-1582. 

That notable man, Mr. George Bucquhanane — remains alyve 
to this day in the yeir of God 1566 years, to the glory of God, to 
the gret honour of this natioun, and to the comfort of thame that 
delyte in letters and vertew. That singulare wark of David's 
Psalmes in Latin meetre and poesie, besyd mony other, can 
witness the rare graices of God gevin to that man. — Johfi Knox, 

A serpent — daring calumniator — leviathan of slander — the 
second of all human forgers and the first of all human slan- 
derers. — Whitaker. 

George Buchanan had sometimes, as I have heard, been a 
preacher in St. Andrews \ after his long travells he was em- 
ployed by our church and state to be a teacher to King James 
and his family : of his faithfulness in this charge he left, I be- 
lieve, to the world good and satisfactory tokens. The eminency 



woman," says Knox, *'to bear nile, superiority, dominion, or empire, 
above any realm, nation, or city, is repugnant to nature, contumely to God, 
a thing most contrarious to his revealed will and approved ordinance, and, 
finally, it is a subversion of all equity and justice." The gist of his argu- 
ment is, I. that women are intended for subjection to men ; 2. that female 
government was not permitted among the Jews ; 3. that it is contrary to 
apostolical injunctions ; 4. that it leads to the perversion of governments, 
&c. This Blast was met by a counterblast. An answer appeared called 
*' An Harboron for Faithful Subjects." The accession of Queen Elizabeth 
made such a refutation necessary. It was the production of John Aylmer, 
who had been tutor to Lady Jane Grey. It is odd to note the poor opinion 
Aylmer has of women, in spite of his intimacy with one who might at least 
have exalted the sex in his eyes. This literary chevalier thus speaks of the 
**most part" of those whose cause he espouses ; he describes them as 
*'fond, foolish, wanton, flibbergibs, tatlers, trifling, wavering, witles, 
without counsel, feable, careles, rashe, proud, daintie, nise, tale-bearers, 
eves-droppers, rumour-raisers, evil-tongued, worse-minded, and in every 
wise doltified with the dregges of the devil's dounge-hill !" Is the real 
source of Mr. Carlyle's eloquence at last disclosed ? — Ed. 

1 " It is," says Chalmers (quoted by Croker), a little odd, though Boswell 
has overlooked it, that Knox was buried in a place which soon after became, 
and ever since has been, a highway — i,e.^ the old churchyard of St. Giles, 
in Edinburgh. 



George Buchanan — John Foxe, 17 



of this person was so great that no society of men need be 
ashamed to have been moderated by his wisdom. — Baillie^ 
^''Historical Vindication,^^ 

In a conversation concerning the literary merits of the two 
countries, in which Buchanan was introduced, a Scotchman, 
imagining that on this ground he should have an undoubted 
triumph over him, exclaimed, " Ah, Doctor Johnson ! what 
would you have said of Buchanan, had he been an English- 
man?" "Why, sir," said Johnson, after a little pause, ''I 
should 7iot have said of Buchanan, had he been an Englishman^ 
what I will now say of him as a Scotchman— \h.dX he was the 
only man of genius his country ever produced." — Boswell. 

His De jure Regni apud Scotos, a spirited and elegant dialogue 
betwixt the author and Thomas Maitland, in which the true 
principles of Government are delivered; next the distinction 
betwixt a King and a Tyrant is explained ; and the whole 
concludes with insisting that kings are accountable to their 
subjects; that this is the condition of kingship, particularly in 
Scotland, and that tyrants may be judged and even put to 
death without blame, nay, with the highest honour, by their 
abused subjects. There is a singular freedom of spirit in this 
tract, especially for the time when it was written, and it gives 
me a high idea of the honesty or boldness of this writer, that 
he presumed to address a discourse of this sort to his pupil, 
King James the Sixth. This strong love of liberty, to which his 
warm temper and elevated genius naturally inclined him, was 
catched, or at least much confirmed in him, by his familiarity 
with the classical story of the Greeks and Romans, the great 
doctors of civil liberty to all countries and ages. — Dr. Hurd, 

John Foxe. 

Burnet, Strype, and all our best historians have derived their 
principal information and documents from John Foxe. — George 
Townsend, 

The work of John Foxe is one of the most useful, most 
important, and most vahiable books we still possess. It has 
never been superseded. — Church of England Q. Review, 

The " Acts and Monuments" of John Foxe, more usually 
called his " Book of Martyrs," must have a place amongst the 
principal historical works of the sixteenth century. None 

c 



1 



i8 



John Foxe—Lord DorseU 



certainly can be compared to it in its popularity and influence. 
Four editions of these bulky folios were published in the reign 
of Elizabeth j the first in 1563. It may not be too much to 
say that it confirmed the Reformation in England. Every 
parish (by order of the council or the bishops, we forget which) 
was to have a copy in the church j and every private gentle- 
man, who had any book but the Bible, chose that which stood 
next in religious esteem. — Edinburgh Review^ 1831. 

As he hath been found most diligent, so most strictly true 
and faithful in his transcriptions. — Strype, 

How learnedly he wrote, how constantly he preached, how 
piously he lived, and how cheerfully he died, may be seen at 
large in the life prefixed to this book. — Fuller, 

Lord Dorset. 
1536-1608. 

An amiable and elegant man, equally noted for the severity 
of his satire and the sweetness of his manners. . . . Dorset 
possessed the rare secret of uniting energy with ease in his 
striking compositions. His verses to Mr. Edward Howard, to 
Sir Thomas Sh. Serfe ; his epilogue to the Tartuffe ; his song 
written at sea in the first Dutch war ; his ballad on Knotting, 
and on Lewis XIV,, may be named as examples of this happy 
talent. — Warton. 

The best good man with the worst-natured muse — Rochester, 

Lord Dorset was a generous, good-natured man. He was 
so oppressed with phlegm that till he was a little heated with 
wine he scarce ever spoke. But he was upon that exaltation, 
a very lively man. Never was so much its nature in a pen as 
in his, joined with so much good-nature as was in himself, 
even to excess \ for he was against all punishing, even of 
malefactors. He was bountiful, even to run himself into 
difficulties, and charitable to a fault ; for he commonly gave 
all he had about him, when he met an object that moved him. 
But he was so lazy that tho' the king seemed to court him to 
be a favourite, he would not give himself the trouble that 
belonged to that post. He hated the court and despised the 
king (Charles 11.) when he saw he was neither generous nor 
tender-hearted. — Burnet, 

Dryden, whom, if Prior tells the truth, he distinguished by 
his beneficence^ and who lavished his blandishments on those 



Lord Dorset — Sir Walter Raleigh, 



19 



who are known not so well to have deserved them, undertaking 
to produce authors of our own country superior to those of 
antiquity, says, " I would instance your Lordship in satire, and 
Shakspeare in tragedy.'' Would it be imagined that of this 
rival to antiquity all the satires were little personal invectives, 
and that his longest composition was a song of eleven stanzas ? 
— yohnson, 

Dorset, the grace of courts, the muse's pride, 
Patron of arts, and judge of nature. — Fope, 
Lord Dorset, who had the greatest wit, tempered with the 
greatest candour, and was one of the finest critics, as well as 
the best poets of his age. — Addison. 

The magnificent Dorset, almost the only noble versifier in 
the court of Charles 11. who possessed talents for composition 
which were independent of the aid of a coronet. — Macaulay. 

Thomas, Earl of Dorset, was the patriarch of a race of genius 
and wit. — Horace Walpole. 

If Dorset's sprightly muse but touch the lyre, 

The smiles and graces melt in soft desire ; 

And little Loves confess their am'rous fire, — Ga7ih, 

Sir Walter Raleigh. 
1552-1618. 

The soldier, the sailor, the scholar, the courtier, the orator, 
the poet, the historian, the philosopher, whom we picture to 
ourselves sometimes reviewing the Queen's guard, sometimes 
giving chase to a Spanish galleon, then answering the chiefs of 
the country party in the House of Commons, then again 
murmuring one of his sweet love-songs too near the ears of 
her Highness's maids of honour, and soon after poring over 
the " Talmud," or collating Polybius with Livy. — Macaulay. 

The events of his life are interesting ; but his character is 
ambiguous, his actions are obscure, his writings are English, 
and his fame is confined to the narrow limits of our language 
and our island. — Gibbon. 

Coke. Thou art the most vile and execrable traitor that ever 
lived. 

Raleigh. You speak indiscreetly, barbarously, and uncivilly. 
Coke, I want words sufiicient to express your viperous 
treasons, 

C 2 



20 



Sir Walter Raleigh, 



Raleigh, I think you want words indeed, for you have spoken 

one thing half a dozen times. ! 

Coke, Thou art an odious fellow ; thy name is hateful to all 
the realm of England for thy pride. — State Trials, 

He (Charles James Fox) thought Raleigh a very fine writer. 
Bolingbroke he did not like. Surrey was " too old" for him. — 
Sam. Rogers, 

His poetry, though graceful, is cramped and somewhat dis- 
figured by the fashions of the age. — Edinburgh Review, 

Men had leisure to reflect on the hardship, not to say injustice 
of his sentence ; they pitied his active and enterprising spirit, 
which languished in the rigours of confinement ; they were 
struck with the extensive genius of the man, who, being 
educated amidst naval and military enterprises, had surpassed 
in the pursuits of literature even those of the most recluse 
and sedentary lives; and they admired his unbroken mag- 
nanimity, which at his age and under his circumstances could 
engage him to undertake and execute so great a work as his 

History of the World." — Hume. 

His eyes were large and intelligent, his nose somewhat long, 
yet not out of proportion ; his lips delicately curved, with a 
fair moustache on the upper lip, and a beard of moderate 
growth, handsomely rounded under the chin beneath. His 
complexion was somewhat browned as if by exposure to foreign 
climates, or hard service in the wars. His stature was six feet 
full, with limbs elegantly yet strongly moulded. . . A braver 
soldier, a handsomer man, or a more accomplished gentleman 
the Court of Elizabeth did not contain at that time. — " Shak- 
speare and his Friends 

One day," quoth he, I sat (as was my trade) 
Under the foote of Mole, that mountaine hore, 
Keeping my sheep amongst the cooly shade 
Of the greene alders by the Mullaes shore ; 
There a straunge shepheard chaunst to finde me out, 
Whether allured with my pipe's delight. 
Whose pleasing sound yshrilled far about. 
Or thither led by chaunce, I know not right : 
Whom when I asked from what place he came, 
And how he hight himselfe, he did ycleepe 
The Shepheard of the Ocean by name. 
And said he came far from the main-sea deepe. 



Sir Walter Raleigh — Bishop JewelL 



He, sitting me beside in that same shade, 

Provoked me to plaie some pleasant fit : 

And when he heard the musicke which I made, 

He found himselfe full greatly pleasd at it : 

Yet aemuling my pipe, he tooke in hond 

My pipe, before that aemuled of many. 

And plaid thereon ; (for well that skill he cond ;) 

Himselfe as skilfull in that art as any. 

He pip'd, I sung ; and when he sung, I piped ; 

By chaunge of turnes, each making other mery ; 

Neither envying other, nor envied. 

So piped we, untill we both were weary." — Spenser, 

Bishop JewelL 
1552-1618. 

The worthiest divine that Christendom hath bred for the 
space of some hundreds of years. — Hooker, 

A man to be accounted of as his name doth import, and so 
esteemed, not only in England, but with all the learned men 
beyond the seas, that ever knew him or saw his writings. — 
Bancroft, 

One of the most precious and peerless Jewels of these 
later times, for learning, knowledge, judgment, honesty, and 
industry. — -Jaines, 

•That great light and ornam.ent of the Church, whose memory 
is preserved to this day with due veneration in all the Pro- 
testant churches. — Stitling fleet, ^ 

That so notable a bishop, so learned a man, so stout a 
champion of true religion, so painful a prelate. . . Thus have 
I answered in his behalf, who both in this and other like con- 
troversies might have been a great stay to this Church of 



^ Renowned," says Macaulay, " as a consummate master of all the 
weapons of controversy." " Stillingfleet," says Bishop Burnet, "was a 
man of much learning, but of a reserved and haughty temper. He in his 
youth writ an Irenicu7?i for healing our divisions, with so much learning and 
moderation that it was esteemed a masterpiece. . . . After that he wrote 
against infidelity beyond any that had gone before him. And then he 
engaged to write against popery, which he did with such an exactness and 
liveliness, that no books of controversy were so much read and valued as 
his were. He was a great man in many respects. He knew the world, 
and was esteemed a wise man." — Ed. 



%1 Bishop Jewell — Richard Hooker, 



England, if we had been worthy of him. But whilst he lived, 
and especially after his most notable and profitable travails, he 
received the same reward of ungrateful tongues, that other 
men may be exercised with, and all must look for that will do 
their duty. — Whitgift 

Richard Hooker. 
1553-1600. 

Though I had lately said I never met with an English 
book whose writer deserved the name of author, yet there now 
appeared a wonder to them, and it would be so to his Holiness, 
if it were in Latin ; for a poor obscure English priest had 
written four such books of Laws and Church Polity, and in a 
style that expressed such a grave or so humble a majesty, with 
such clear demonstrations of reason, that in all their readings 
they had not met with any that exceeded him." — Cardi?ial 
Allen or Dr. Stapleto7i to Pope Cle77ie?it VIII, ^ quoted by Walton. 

Though nothing can be spoke worthy his fame. 

Or remembrance of that precious name. 

Judicious Hooker ; though this cost he spent 

On him that hath a lasting m.onument 

In his own books : yet ought Ave to express. 

If not his worth, yet our respectfulness. 

Church ceremonies he maintained : then why 

Without all ceremony should he die ? 

Was it because his life and death should be 

Both equal patterns of humility ? 

Or that perhaps this only glorious one 

Was above all to ask v/hy he had none ? 

Sir William Cowper, 

The school of divinity of which Hooker was the chief, 
occupies a middle place between the school of Cranmer and 
the school of Laud ; and Hooker has, in modern times, been 
claimed by the Arminians as an ally. Yet Hooker pronounced 
Calvin to have been a man superior in wisdom to any other 
divine that France had produced. — Macaulay. 

Mr. Chetwind fell commending of Hooker's Ecclesiastical 
Polity" as the best book and the only one that made him a 
Christian, which puts me upon the buying of it, which I will 
do shortly. — Pepys, 



Richard Hooker, 



^3 



I have lived to see this world is made up of perturbations ; 
and I have been long preparing to leave it, and gathering 
comfort for the dreadful hour of my making my account with 
God, which I now apprehend to be near : and though I have 
by His grace loved Him in my youth, and feared Him in my 
age, and laboured to have a conscience void of offence to 
Him and to all men ; yet if Thou, O Lord, be extreme to 
mark what I have done amiss, who can abide it? And there- 
fore when I have failed. Lord, show mercy to me ; for I plead 
not my righteousness, but the forgiveness of my unrighteous- 
ness for His merits who died to purchase pardon for penitent 
sinners. And since I owe Thee a death. Lord, let it not be 
terrible, and then take Thine own time. I submit to it ; let 
not mine, O Lord, but let Thy will be done. — Richard 
Hooker. 

His sermons were neither long nor earnest, but uttered with 
a grave zeal and an humble voice ; his eyes always fixed on 
one place to prevent his imagination from wandering, insomuch 
that he seem.ed to study as he spake. The design of his 
sermons (as indeed of all his discourses) was to show reasons 
for what he spake; and with these reasons such a kind of 
rhetoric as did rather convince and persuade than frighten 
men into piety ; studying not so much for matter (which he 
never wanted) as for apt illustrations to inform and teach his 
unlearned hearers by familiar examples, a.nd then make them 
better by convincing applications ; never labouring by hard 
words, and then by needless distinctions and subdistinctions, to 
amuse his hearers, and get the glory to himself; but glory only 
to God. Which intention he would say was as discernible 
in a preacher as a natural from an artificial beauty." — /. 
Walton. 

Though I dare not say that I knew Mr. Hooker, yet as oui* 
ecclesiastical history reports to the honour of S. Ignatius 

that he lived in the time of S. John, and had seen him in 
his childhood," so I also joy that in my minority I have often 
seen Mr. Hooker with my father, who was after Bishop of 
London; from whom and others at that time I have heard 
most of the material passages which you relate in the history 
of his life ; and from my father received such a character of 
his learning, humihty, and other virtues, that, hke jewels of 
invaluable price, they shall cast such a lustre, as envy or the 
rust of time shall never darken. — Dr. King. 



24 Richard Hooker — John Lyly, 



Hooker he (Dr. Johnson) admired for his logical precision. — 
Hawkins, 

You justly conceive Hooker to be a great favourite of mine. 
Setting aside the inestimable importance of the subject on 
which he treats, he is so very fine a writer that I am often 
astonished at the liUle^ I had almost said at the no progress, 
we have made in composition and in the improvement of the 
English language since his day. — Hannah More. 

John Lyly.'" 
1553-1606. 

" Euphues" had rather lye shut in a Ladye's casket, than open 
in a Scholler's studie. — Euphues. 

John Lyly hath deserved most high commendations, as he 
hath stept one step further (therein) than any either before or 
since he begun his witty discourse of his Euphues." Whose 
works, surely, in respect of his singular eloquence and brave 
composition of apt words and sentences, let the learned examine 
and make trial thereof through all the parts of Rhetorick, in fit 
phrases, in pithy sentences, in gallant tropes, in flowing speech, 



1 In Hazlitt's ''Lectures on the Drama" mention is made of Lyly. He is 
referred to in a passage of such exquisite beauty that it would be injurious 
to suppress a single line : — " Here on Salisbury Plain, where I write this, 
even here with a few old authors, I can manage to get through the winter 
or the summer months without ever knowing what it is to feel ennui. They 
sit with me at breakfast, they walk out with me before dinner. After a 
long walk through unfrequented tracts — after starting the hare from the 
fern, or hearing the wing of the raven rustling over my head, or being 
greeted with the woodman's stern "good night" as he strikes into his 
narrow homeward path — I can take mine ease at mine inn beside the 
blazing hearth, and shake hands with Signor Orlando Frescobaldo as the 
oldest acquaintance I have. Ben Jonson, learned Chapman, Master 
Webster, and Master Heywood are there ; and seated round, discourse the 
silent hours away. Shakspeare is there himself, rich in Gibber's manager's 
coat. Spenser is hardly returned from a ramble through the woods, or is 
concealed behind a group of nymphs, fawns, and satyrs. Milton lies on 
the table as on an altar, never taken up or laid down without reverence. 
Lyly's " Endymion" sleeps with the moon that shines in at the window ; 
and a breath of wind stirring at a distance seems a sigh from the tree under 
which he grew old. Faustus disputes in one corner of the room with 
fiendish faces and reasons of divine theology. Bellapont soothes Matteo, 
Vittoria triumphs over her judges, and old Chapman repeats one of the 
hymns of Homer in his own fine translation." 



John Lyly. 



^5 



in plain sense, and surely in my judgment I think he will yield 
him that verdict — that from one nothing may be taken away, to 
the other nothing may be added. — William Webbe^ 1586. 

Nash the Ape of Greene, Greene the Ape of Euphues, 
Euphues the Ape of Ennuie. — G. Hervey. 

Lyly famous for faciHty in discourse. — Lodge, 1596. 

Eloquent and witty John Lyly. — F. Meres, 

Lyly was a man of great reading, good memory, ready faculty of 
application, and uncommon eloquence; but he ran into a vast ex- 
cess of allusion. In sentence and conformity of style he seldom 
speaks directly to the purpose ; but is continually carried away 
by one odd allusion or simile or other. — W, Oldys. 

His style is a kind of prodigy for neatness, clearness, and 
precision. . . A judicious head may receive great improvement 
by reading his works, which are now scarcely ever mentioned. 
— Literary Magazi?ie, 1758. 

These notable productions were full of pedantic and affected 
phraseology, and of high-strained antitheses of thought and 
expression. — Gifford, 

("Euphues") is a tissue of antitheses and alliteration, and 
therefore justly entitled to the appellation of affected ; but we 
cannot, with Berkenhout, consider it as a most contemptible 
piece of nonsense. — N. D^-ake. 

Notwithstanding all exaggeration, Lyly was really a man of 
wit and imagination, though both were deformed by the most 
unnatural affectation that ever disgraced a printed page. — Sir 
W. Scott 

John Lyly was an ingenious scholar with some fancy ; but 
if poetry be the heightened expression of natural sentiments 
and impressions, he has little title to the rank of poet. The 
chief characteristic of his style, besides its smoothness, is the 
employment of a species of fabulous or unnatural natural 
philosophy, in which the existence of certain animals, vegetables, 
and minerals, with peculiar properties, is presumed, in order to 
afford similes and illustrations. — J. Payne Collier. 

The style which obtained celebrity is antithetical and sen- 
tentious to affectation ; the perpetual effort with no adequate 
success, rendering the book equally disagreeable and ridiculous, 
though it might not be difficult to find passages rather more 
happy and ingenious than the rest. — Llallam, 

Euphues") as brave, righteous, and pious a book as man 
need look into. — C. Kingsley, 



^6 



John Lyly — Edmund Spenser. 



He was always averse to the crabbed studies of logic and 
philosophy. For so it was that his genie, being naturally bent 
to the pleasant paths of poetry (as if Apollo had given to him 
a wreath of his own bays without snatching or struggling), did in 
a manner neglect academical studies; yet not so much but 
that he took the degrees in arts, that of master being com- 
pleted 1575 ; at which time as he was esteemed at the university 
a noted wit, so afterwards was in the Court of Q. Elizabeth, 
where he was also reputed a rare poet, witty, comical, and 
facetious. — Anthony a Wood. 

Edmund Spenser. 
1553-1599- 

No poet has ever had a more exquisite sense of the beautiful 
than Spenser. — Frof, Wilson. 

Spenser may be justly said to excel Ariosto in originality of 
invention, in force and variety of character, in strength and 
vividness of conception, in depth of reflection, in fertility of 
imagination, and above all, in that exclusively poetical cast of 
feeling which discerns in everything what common minds do 
not perceive. — Hallajn. 

The nobility of the Spensers has been illustrated and en- 
riched by the trophies of Marlborough ] but I exhort them to 
consider the Faery Queen" as the most precious jewel of 
their coronet. — Gibbon. 

Grave moral Spenser after these came on, 
Than whom I am persuaded there was none, 
Since the blind Bard his Iliads up did make, 
Fitter a task like that to undertake ; 
To set down boldly, bravely to invent, 
In all our knowledge surely excellent. 

Michael Drayton. 

The characteristics of this sweet and amiable allegorical poet 
are, not only strong and circumstantial imagery, but tender 
and pathetic feeling, a most melodious flow of versification, 
and a certain pleasing melancholy in his sentiments, the con- 
stant companion of an elegant taste, that casts a delicacy and 
grace over all his compositions. — Warton. 

There is a something in Spenser that pleases one as strongly 
in one's old age as it did in one's youth. I read the Faery 



Edmund Spenser, 



27 



Queen " when I was about twelve with a vast deal of delight ; 
and I think it gave me as much when I read it over about a 
year or two ago. — Pope. 

In all his fantastic prodigality of invention, Spenser is never 
restrained by the want of adequate language. His endless 
train of images array themselves instantaneously in varied and 
harmonious words ; if his eye is sensitive to every form of 
beauty, so is his ear to every sound of music : the very diffi- 
culty and complexity of his stanza shows at once his unlimited 
command of poetic language, and that language falls at once, 
with rare instances of effort or artificial skill, into flowing and 
easy verse. His very faults seem to me out of the wanton 
redundance of power, rather than from the constraint of insuf- 
ficient or inflexible diction. Whatever English poetic language 
may have gained in vigour, in perspicuity, or in precision, 
almost its earliest poet seems to have discovered and exhausted 
its fertility, its pliancy, its melody. — Quarterly Review. 

Spenser, though assuredly one of the greatest poets that ever 
lived, could not succeed in the attempt to make allegory in- 
teresting. It was in vain that he lavished the riches of his 
mind on the House of Pride and the House of Temperance. 
One unpardonable fault, the fault of tediousness, pervades the 
whole of the "Fairy Queen." We become sick of cardinal virtues 
and deadly sins, and long for the society of plain men and 
women. Of the persons who read the first canto, not one 
in ten reaches the end of the first book, and not one in a hun- 
dred perseveres to the end of the poem. Very few and very 
weary are those who are in at the death of the Blatant Beast — • 
Macaiilay. 

Whose deep conceit is such 
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. — Shakspeare, 

All his hopes were crossed, all suits denied ; 

Discouraged, scorned, his writings vilified ; 

Poorly, poor man, he lived ; poorly, poor man, he died. 

Phineas Fletcher, 

A silver trumpet Spenser blows. 

And, as its martial notes to silence flee, 

From a virgin chorus flows 

A hymn in praise of spotless Chastity. 

'Tis still ! Wild warblings from th' CEolian lyre 

Enchantment softly breathe, and tremblingly expire. 

Keats, 



cj8 



Edmund Spenser. 



Spenser had but little knowledge of men as men ; the cardinal 
virtues were the personages he was acquainted with ; in every- 
thing he was "high fantastical," and, as a consequence, he 
exhibits neither humour nor pathos. He was a Platonist and 
fed his grave spirit on high speculations and moralities. 
Severe and chivalrous, dreaming of things to come, unsuppled 
by luxury, unenslaved by passion, somewhat scornful and self- 
sustained, it needed but a tyrannous king, an electrical political 
atmosphere, and a deeper interest in theology, to make a Puritan 
of him, as these things made a Puritan of Milton. — Alexander 
Smith, 

The Queen was far from having a just sense of his merit ; 
and Lord Burleigh, who prevented her giving him a hundred 
pounds, seems to have thought the lowest clerk in his office a 
more deserving person. He died in want of bread. — Dr. Granger, 
The many Chaucerisms used (for I will not say affected by 
him) are thought by the ignorant to be blemishes, known by 
the learned to be beauties to his book, which notwithstanding 
had been more saleable if more conformed to our modern 
language. — Fuller, 

Had I time I could enlarge on the beautiful turns of words 
and thoughts which are as requisite in this as in heroic poetry 
itself With these beautiful works I confess myself to have 
been unacquainted till about twenty years ago, in a conversa- 
tion which I had with that noble wit of Scotland, Sir George 
Mackenzie, he asked me why I did not imitate in my verse 
the turns of Mr. Waller and Sir John Denham, of which he 
repeated many to me. I had often read with pleasure, and 
with some profit, these two fathers of our English poetry ; but 
had not seriously enough considered their beauties, which give 
the last perfection to their works. Some sprinklings of this I 
had also formerly in my plays ; but they were casual and not 
designed. But this hint, thus seasonably given to me, first 
made me sensible of my own wants, and brought me afterwards 
to seek for the supply of them in other English authors. I 
looked over the darHng of my youth, the famous Cowley — there 
I found, instead of them, the points of wit and quirks of 
epigram ; but no elegant turns, either on the word or on the 
thought. Then I consulted a greater genius (without offence 
to the manes of that noble author), I mean Milton ; but as he 
endeavours everywhere to express Homer, whose age had not 
arrived to that fineness, I found in him a true sublimity, lofty 



Edmund Spenser, 



29 



thoughts which were clothed with admirable Grecisms, and 
ancient words which he had been digging from the mines of 
Chaucer and Spenser, and which, with all their rusticity, had 
somewhat of venerable in them ; l3Ut I found not there neither 
that for which I looked. At last I had recourse to his master, 
Spenser, the author of that immortal poem called the " Faery 
Queen," and there I met with that which I had been looking 
for so long in vain. Spenser had studied Virgil to as much 
advantage as Milton had done Homer. — Dry den ^ Preface to 
Juvenal, 

This poet contains great beauties, a sweet and harmonious 
versification, easy elocution, a fine imagination. Yet does the 
perusal of his work become so tedious that one never finishes 
it from the mere pleasure that it affords. It soon becomes a kind 
of task reading ; and it requires some effort and resolution to 
carry us on to the end of his long performance. Upon the 
whole Spenser maintains his place upon the shelves among our 
English classics ; but he is seldom seen on the table, and there 
is scarcely any one, if he dares to be ingenuous, but will confess 
that, notwithstanding all the merit of the poet, he affords an 
entertainment with which the palate is soon satiated. — Htmie, 

In him the spirit of chivalry elevated the love of the 
beautiful ; and both, while ennobled by a meditative piety, 
were enriched by all the gentler associations of classical song. 
He was a man of graver mind than belonged to any of his 
models, and we miss in him that buoyant gaiety which animates 
the poets of the South ; but such deficiencies were amply atoned 
for by that tenderly contemplative spirit which pervades his 
poetry. — Edinburgh Review^ 1S31. 

No poet that ever lived had a more exquisite sense of the 
beautiful than Spenser. Of profounder passion many poets 
have been blest or cursed with the power. His were indeed 
^Hhoughts that breathe," but not "words that burn." His 
words have a lambent light. Reading him is like gazing on 
the starry skies — or on the skies without a star — except perhaps 
one — the evening star— and all the rest of the heaven in still 
possession of the moon. His love of woman's life is spiritual, 
yet voluptuous ; and desire itself is hallowed, kindling at sight 
of beauty " emparadised in such sweet flesh." — Blackwood's 
Magazine, 

The Rubens of English Poetry. — T. CampbelL 



30 



Sir Philip Sidney. 
1554-1586. 

In Sir Philip Sidney we behold Maecenas and Marcellus 
united, who with the strongest eloquence could at once teach 
the best rules of poetry, the most beautifully and gallantly 
rewarded men of letters and science ; who, as a soldier, like 
Publius Decius, freely rewarded the partners of his victories ; 
and also like Decius devoted himself in battle for his country. 
— Arthur Collins. 

(The Arcadia") the most tedious, lamentable, pedantic, 
pastime romance which the patience of a young virgin in love 
cannot now wade through. — Walpole. 

After writing with the sang froid and prolixity of Made- 
moiselle Scuderi, Sidney died with the rashness of a volunteer. 
^Ibid, 

The true spirit and vein of poetry shines most in Sir Philip 
Sidney, whom I esteem to be the greatest writer and genius of 
any who have left writings behind them in this or any other 
age. — Waller. 

The noble Sidney with this last arose. 
That Heroe for numbers and for prose, 
That throughly pac'd our language as to show 
The plenteous English hand in hand might goe 
With Greek and Latin. — Michael Draytofz. 

The bravest and most chivalrous of poets, the younger, 
gentler, more lettered Bayard, our knight without fear and 
reproach.— R, Mitford. 

That most heroick spirit. 
The heaven's pride, the glory of our days. — Spenser. 

His end was not writing even while he wrote, nor his 
knowledge moulded for tables or school j but both his wit and 
understanding beat upon his heart, to make himself and others, 
not in word or opinion, but in life and action, good and great.— 
Lord Brooke. 

How happened it that Sir Philip Sidney in his Arcadia,'* 
and afterwards Spenser in his Faery Queen," observed so 
unnatural a conduct in those works, in which the story pro- 
ceeds as it were by snatches, and with continual interruption ? 



Sir Philip Sidney, 



31 



How was the good sense of those writers, so conversant besides 
in the best models of antiquity, seduced into this preposterous 
method? The answer no doubt is, that they were copying 
the design, or disorder rather, of Ariosto, a favourite poet of 
that time. — Hurd, 

The man that looks, sweet Sidney, in thy face, 

Beholding there love's truest majesty, 

And the soft image of departed grace, 

Shall fill his mind with magnanimity : 

There may he read unfeigned humility, 

And golden pity, born of heavenly brood, 

UnsulHed thoughts of immortality, 

And musing virtue, prodigal of blood. — Lord Thurlow, 

Sidney was a refinement upon nobility. He was like the 
abstract and essence of romantic fiction, having the courage 
(but not the barbarity) of the preux chevaliers of ancient 
times — their unwearied patience — their tender and stainless 
attachment. He was a hero of chivalry without the grossness 
and frailty of flesh. He lived beloved and admired, and died 
universally and deservedly lamented. He is the last of those 
who have passed into a marvel ; for he is now remembered 
almost as the ideal personification of a true knight, and is 
translated to the skies, like the belt of the hunter Orion or 
Berenice's starry hair. — Edinburgh Review^ 1S25. 

This person is described by the writers of that age as the most 
perfect model of an accomplished gentleman that could be 
found, even by the wanton imagination of poetry or fiction. 
Virtuous conduct, polite conversation, heroic valour, and 
elegant erudition, all concurred to render him the ornament 
and delight of the English court j and as the credit which he 
possessed with the Queen and the Earl of Leicester was wholly 
employed in the encouragement of genius and literature, his 
praises have been transmitted with advantage to posterity. — 
Htme. 

Sydney, than whom a gentler braver man 
His own delightful genius never feigned. 
Illustrating the vales of Arcady 

With courteous courage and with loyal loves, — Southey. 



32 



Lord Bacon. 
1561-1626. 

Before any parallel to him can be formed, not only must a 
man of the same talents be produced, but he must be placed 
in the same circumstances ; the memory of his predecessor 
must be effaced and the light of science, after being entirely 
extinguished, must be again beginning to revive. If a second 
Bacon is ever to arise, he must be ignorant of the first. — Prof, 
Playfair. 

A very estimable author and philosopher. His style stiff 
and rigid \ his wit unnatural and far-fetched. — Hu7ne, 

She (Queen Elizabeth) did acknowledge you had a great wit 
and an excellent gift of speech, and much other good learning. 
But in law she rather thought you could make shew to the utmost 
of your knowledge than that you were deep, — Earl of Essex to 
Francis Baco7t, 

My lord Chancellor Bacon is lately dead of a long languish- 
ing weakness ; he died so poor that he scarce left money to 
bury him, which, although he had a great wit, did argue no 
great wisdom ; it being one of the essential properties of a man to \ 
provide for the main chance. — How ell , 

My conceit of his person was never increased towards him ! 
by his place or honours ; but I have and do reverence him for 
the greatness that was only proper to himself ; in that he 
seemed to me ever, by his work, one of the greatest men and i 
most worthy of admiration that had been in many ages. In ■ 
his adversity I ever prayed God would give him strength ; for ^ 
greatness he could not want. — Ben Jonson, 

He had the sound, distinct, comprehensive knowledge of (| 
Aristotle, with all the beautiful lights, graces, and embeUish- 
ments of Cicero. — Addison, 

Who is there that upon hearing the name of Lord Bacon 
does not instantly recognise everything of genius the most pro- 
found, everything of literature the most extensive, everything 
of discovery the most penetrating, everything of observation 
of human Ufe the most distinguishing and refined ? — Burke, 

Bacon, like Moses, led us forth at last ; 
The barren wilderness he pass'd, 
Did on the very border stand 
Of the bless'd promis'd Land, 



Lord Bacon. 



33 



And from the mountain-top of his exalted wit 
Saw it himself, and show'd us it. — Cowley. 

The great secretary of nature and all learning. — Walton. 

His understanding resembled the tent which the fairy Pari- 
banon gave to Prince Ahmed. Fold it, and it seemed a toy 
for the hand of a lady ; spread it, and the armies of powerful 
Sultans might repose beneath its shade. — Macaulay. 

One of the most extensive and improv'd Genius's we have 
had any instance of in our own nation, or in any other, was 
that of Sir Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam. This great man, by 
an extraordinary force of nature, compass of thought, and inde- 
fatiguable study, had amassed to himself such stores of know- 
ledge, as we cannot look upon without amazement. His 
capacity seems to have grasp'd all that was reveal'd in Books 
before his time ; and not satisfied with that, he began to strike 
out new tracks of science, too many to be travell'd over by any 
one man, in the compass of the longest life. — -John Hughes. 

He may be compared with those liberators of nations who 
have given them laws by which they might govern themselves, 
and retained no homage but their gratitude. — Hallam. 

With the same pen which demolished the Aristotelism of the 
schoolmen, he writes a treatise on the laws, a cure for the gout, 
the translation of a psalm, and an essay on plantations. — Lord 
L.ytton. 

In Bacon's Essays the superiority of his genius appears to 
the greatest advantage ; the novelty and depth of his reflections 
often receiving a strong relief from the triteness of the topic. 
The volume may be read from beginning to end in a few hours, 
and yet after the twentieth perusal one seldom fails to remark 
in it something overlooked before. This indeed is a charac- 
teristic of all Bacon's writings, and is only to be accounted for 
by the inexhaustible aliment they furnish to our own thoughts, 
and the sympathetic activity they impart to our torpid faculties. 
— Dugald Ste^uart. 

Bacon, in writing his history of Henry VII., does not seem 
to have consulted any record, but to have taken what he found 
in other histories, and blended it with what he learned by tra- 
dition. — Dr. Johnson. 

We yield to none in our grateful veneration for Lord Bacon's 
philosophical witings. We are proud of his very name as men 
of science ; and as EngHshmen we are almost vain of it. But 
we may not permit the honest workings of national attachment 

D 



34 



Lord Bacon. 



to degenerate into the jealous and indiscriminate partiality of 
clanship. Unawed by such as praise and abuse by wholesale, 
we dare avow that there are points in the character of our 
Verulam, from w^hich we turn to the life and labours of John 
Kepler as from gloom to sunshine.— 

The world to Bacon does not only owe 

Its present knowledge, but its future too. — Drydeii, 

The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind. — -Pope, 

It was as a philosopher that Bacon conquered immortality, 
and here he stands superior to all who went before and to all 
who have followed him. If he be not entitled to a place in the 
interior of the splendid temple which he imagined for those 
who, by inventing arts, have embellished life, his statue ought 
to appear in the more honourable position of the portico, as 
the great master who has taught how arts are to be invented. . . 
he accomplished more for the real advancement of knowledge 
than any of those who spent their lives in calm meditation under 
sequestered porticos or amidst academic groves. — Lord CampbelL 

If we consider the variety of talents displayed by this man, 
as a public speaker, a man of business, a wit, a courtier, a 
companion, an author, a philosopher, he is justly the object of 
great admiration. If we consider him merely as an author and 
philosopher, the light in which we view him at present, though 
very estimable, he was yet inferior to his contemporary Gallileo, 
perhaps even to Kepler.— i^^z'/^ Hume. 

The uncomparable Verulam. — LLooke. 

It was Bacon who em.ancipated and set free philosophy, 
which had long been a miserable captive, and which ever since 
made conquests in the territories of nature. — Evelym. 

It was owing to the sagacity and freedom of Lord Bacon 
that men were then pretty well enabled both to make dis- 
coveries and to remove the impediments that had hitherto kept 
physics from being useful. — Boyle^ '''' Experhnmts and Observa- 
tio?is Touching Cold^ 

Human r ason, unshackled and independent, took her bent 
from his hands ; and learned societies in every part of Europe 
— on the banks of the Wolga, the Po, and the Danube — either 
rose up at his name, or reconstructed their plans after his 
direction. The collective wits of the brightest of European 
nations — ^as little inclined as the Greeks to look out of them- 
selves for excellencies — have paid homage to him as the Solon 



Lord Bacon — William Shakspeare, 3 5 



of modern science, and founded upon his partition of the 
sciences an encyclopaedia which was once the marvel and the 
glory of literature. The tribes of every age and nation regard 
the father of modem philosophy with the reverence and 
devotion of children ; and so loud and universal has been the 
acclaim, that the testimony of our own epoch falls on the ear 
like the voice of a child closing the shout of a multitude. — 
Joseph Da'ey, 

William Shakspeare. 
1564-1616. 

I have heard Sir WiUiam Davenant and Thomas Shadwell 
(who is accounted the best comedian Ave have now) say that 
he had a most prodigious -wit—Aubi^ey. 

The man whom nature self had made 

To mock herself and Truth to imitate. — Spenser, 

An upstart crow beautified with our feathers. — Greene, 
As the soul of Euphorbus was thought to live in Pythagoras, 
so the sweet witty soul of Ovid lives in mellifluous and honey- 
tongued Shakspeare. — Anon.^ 159^- 

I have heard that Mr. Shakspeare was a natural wit, without 
any art at all j hee frequented the plaies all his younger time, 
but in his elder days lived at Stratford and supplied the stage 
with two plaies every yeare, and for itt had an allowance 
so large that hee spent att the rate of 1000/. a-year, as I have 
heard. — Rev, J, Ward, 1648. 

He was honest and of an open and free nature. — Ben Jonson, 
The merit of Shakspeare is such as the ignorant can take 
in and the learned add nothing to. — Johnso7i, 

It is Shakspeare's peculiar excellence that throughout the 
whole of his splendid picture-gallery (the reader will excuse the 
confessed inadequacy of this metaphor) we find individuality 
everywhere, mere portrait nowhere. In all his various 
characters we still feel ourselves communing with the same 
human nature, which is everywhere present, as the vegetable 
sap in the branches, sprays, leaves, buds, blossoms, and fruits, 
their shapes, tastes, odours. Speaking of the effect — i.e,, his 
works themselves, we may define the excellence of their method 
as consisting in that just proportion, that union and inter- 

p 2 



3«5 



William Shakspeare, 



penetration of the universal and the particular which must 
ever pervade all works of decided genius and true science.— 
Coleridge. 

Each change of many-colour'd life he drew : 
Exhausted worlds and then imagined new ; 
Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, 
And panting time toil'd after him in vain. — yohnson. 

To him the mighty mother did unveil 
Her awful face. — Gray. 

But Shakspeare^s magic could not copy^d be, 
Within that circle none durst walk but he. — Dry den. 

Among the English Shakspeare has incomparably excelled 
all others. That noble extravagance of fancy which he had in 
so great a perfection, thoroughly qualified him to touch this 
weak superstitious part of his reader's imagination, and made 
him capable of succeeding where he had nothing to sup- 
port him besides the strength of his own genius. There is 
something so wild and yet so solemn in the speeches of his 
ghosts, fairies, witches and the like imaginary persons, that 
we cannot forbear thinking them natural, though we have no 
rule by which to judge of them, and must confess if there 
are such beings in the world it looks highly probable that 
they should talk and act as he has represented them.— 
Addison. 

Shakspeare and Milton have had their rise, and they will 
have their decline. — Byro7i. 

Shakspeare possesses the power of subordinating nature for 
the purposes of expression beyond all poets. His imperial 
muse tosses the creation like a bauble from hand to hand to 
embody any capricious thought that is uppermost in his mind. 
The remotest spaces of nature are visited, and the furthest 
sundered things are brought together by a subtle spiritual con- 
nexion. — R. W. Emerson. 

I think most readers of Shakspeare sometimes find them- 
selves thrown into exalted mental conditions like those produced 
by music. Then they may drop the book to pass at once into 
the region of thoughts without words. — O. W. Holmes. 

Of all the literary exercitations of speculative men, whether 
designed for the use or entertainment of the world, there are 
none of so much importance as those which let us into the 



William Shakspeare. 



37 



knowledge of our nature. Others may exercise the reason or 
amuse the imagination ; but these only can improve the heart 
and form the mind to wisdom. Now in this science Shak- 
speare confessedly occupies the foremost place ; whether we 
consider the amazing sagacity with which he investigates every 
hidden spring and wheel of human action, or his happy manner 
of communicating this knowledge in the just and living 
paintings he has given us of all our passions, appetites, and 
pursuits. — WarburtoJi. 

Whatever other learning he wanted he was master of two 
books unknown to many profound readers, though books which 
the last conflagration can alone destroy, I mean the Book of 
Nature and that of Man. — You7ig} 

His rude unpolished style and antiquated phrase and wit. — 
Lord Shaftesbury. 

It might seem that Shakspeare, astonished at his own won- 
derful success in embodying his conceptions in that language 
which started up unbidden to his lips, began to mistrust his 
own inexplicable faculty, and to suppose that with strong effort 
he might attain even greater things. Shakspeare is never 
great and happy except when he strives to be peculiarly so. 
But in his ordinary, in his happier vein, Shakspeare, indepen- 
dent of all his other unspeakable claims upon our admiration 
and gratitude, has that of showing that our language is not 
merely capable of supplying the retired and unworldly fancy of 
the poet, who stands aloof from common life, with an inex- 
haustible profusion of bright and harmonious words, but like- 
wise of bringing poetry, as it were, into the busy stir of men, 
into courts and cities, into the agitated palaces of the great, 
and the humble household of the poor. — Quarterly Review, 

Was there ever such stuff as great part of Shakspeare? 
Only one must not say so. But w^hat think you? What? Is 
there not sad stuff? Wliat ? What ? — George III, 

Thou, in our wonder and astonishment. 

Hath built thyself a livelong monument. 

For whilst to the shame of slow endeavouring art 

Thy easy numbers flow : and that each heart, 

Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book 

Those Delphic lines with deep impressions took'; 



1 The Poet. 



38 



William Shakspeare, 



Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, 

Dost make us marble with too much conceiving ; 

And so supulchred, in such pomp dost lie 

That kings, for such a tomb, would wish to die. — Milton, 

In Shakspeare one sentence begets the next naturally : the 
meaning is all inwoven. He goes on kindling like a meteor^ 
through the dark atmosphere; yet when the creation in its 
outline is once perfect, then he seems to rest from his labour and 
smile upon his work and tell himself that it is very good. You 
see many scenes and parts of scenes which are simply Shak- 
speare's disporting himself in joyous triumph and vigorous 
fun, after a great achievement of his highest genius. — Coleridge^ 
" Table Talk:' 

You would say in no point does he exaggerate, but only in 
laughter. Fiery objurgations, words that pierce and burn, are 
to be found in Shakspeare. Yet he is always in measure here ; 
never what Johnson would remark as a specially " good hater." 
But his laughter seems to pour from him in floods : he heaps 
all manner of ridiculous nicknames on the butt, tumbles and 
tosses him in all sorts of horseplay : you would say roars and 
laughs. And then, if not always the purest, it is always a 
genial laughter. Not at mere weakness, at poverty, or misery ; 
never. No man who can laugh, what we call laughing, will 
laugh at these things. It is some poor character desiri7tg to 
laugh, and have the credit of wit that does so. Laughter 
means sympathy ; good laughter is not " the crackHng of thorns 
under the pot." Even at stupidity and pretension this Shak- 
speare does not laugh otherwise than genially. Dogberry and 
Verges tickle our very hearts, and we dismiss them covered 
with explosions of laughter ; but we like the poor fellows only 
the better for our laughing ; and hope that they will get on well 
there, and continue presidents of the city watch. Such laughter, 
like sunshine on the deep sea; is very beautiful. — Carlyle. 

A loose he gave to his unbounded soul. 

And taught new lands to rise, new seas to roll ; 

Called into being scenes unknown before. 

And passing nature's bounds, was something more. 

Churchill. 

Shakspeare (whom you and every playhouse bill 
Style the divine, the matchless, what you will), 



William Shakspeafe. 



39 



For gain, not glory, wing'd his roving flight, 
And grew immortal in his own despite. — Pope, 

If Shakspeare be considered as a Man, born in a rude age 
and educated in the lowest manner, without any instmction 
either from the world or from books, he may be regarded as a 
prodigy : if represented as a Poet, capable of furnishing a 
proper entertainment to a refined or intelligent audience, we 
must abate much of this eulogy. In his compositions we regret 
that many irregularities, and even absurdities should so fre- 
quently disfigure the animated and passionate scenes inter- 
mixed with them J and at the same time we perhaps admire 
the more those beauties on account of their being surrounded 
with such deformities. — Hume} 

Many were the wit combats betwixt him (Shakspeare) and 
Ben Jonson, which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon 
and an English man-of-war. Master Jonson (like the former), 
was built far higher in learning ; solid, but slow in his perfor- 
mances. Shakspeare, with the English man-of-war, lesser in 
bulk, but lighter in saiHng, could turn with all tides, and take 
advantage of all winds by the quickness of his wit and inven- 
tion. — Fuller. 

And thus when William's acts divine 
No longer shall from Bourbon's line 
Draw one vindictive vow ; 
When Sidney shall with Cato rest 
And Russell move the patriot breast 
No more than Brutus now ; 
Yet then shall Shakspeare's powWul art 
O'er ev'ry passion, ev'ry heart, 
Confirm his awful throne ; 
Tyrants shall bow before his laws, 
And freedom's, glory's, virtue's cause 
Their dread assertor o^Yix—Akenside, 

The genius of Shakspeare was an innate universality — ■ 
wherefore he laid the achievement of human intellect prostrate 
beneath his indolent and kingly gaze. He could do easily 
man's utmost — his plan of tasks to come was not of this world. 
If what he proposed to do hereafter would not, in the idea, 



1 Hume's candid opinion of Shakspeare was ^'a disproportioned and 
misshapen giant,"— Ed= 



40 William Shakspeare — Christopher Marlowe. 



answer the aim, how tremendous must have been his concep- 
tion of ultimates \—/ohn Keats. 

Christopher Marlowe. 
1564-1593. 

Marlowe was in felicity of thought and strength of expression 
second only to Shakspeare himself. (As a dramatist, however, 
he is inferior to others.) Some of his turns of thought are 
even like those of our matchless poet : as when he speaks of 

Unwedded maids 
Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows, 
Than have the white breasts of the queen of love 

or of a temple — 

That threats the stars with her aspiring top f 

and where he refers to a man who has an amiable soul — 

" If sin by custom grow not into nature f 

and many others. — Lord yeffrey. 

There is a lust of power in his writings, a hunger and thirst 
after unrighteousness, a glow of the imagination unhallowed by 
anything but its own energies. — Hazlitt. 

Kit Marlowe is beyond comparison the finest of the neglected 
poets. — Hibbert, 

Marlowe's mighty XmQ.—yo7iso7i. 

A kind of second Shakspeare. — Phillips, Theat. Poet, Angli. 
The best of poets. — Heywood. 

His fancy is.rich and his feeling is tender, and his conceptions 
of dramatic character have no inconsiderable mixture of solid 
veracity and ideal beauty. — CaifipbelL 

Sir Henry Wotton. 
1568-1639. 

He was a man of as florid a wit and as elegant a pen as any 
former (of ours which in that kind is most excellent) age hath 
ever produced. — Dr. King. 

He was a great lover of his neighbours, and a bountiful 
entertainer of them very often at his table, where his meat was 
choice and his discourse better. — Isaak Walto?t. 



Sir Henry Wotton — Archbishop Land, 41 

He was a gi'eat enemy to wrangling disputes of religion \ 
concerning which I shall say a little, both to testify that and to 
show the readiness of his wit. Having at his being in Rome 
made acquaintance with a pleasant priest, who incited him one 
evening to hear their vesper music at church ; the priest seeing 
Sir Henry stand obscurely in a corner, sends to him by a boy 
of the choir this question, writ on a small piece of paper, 

Where was your religion to be found before Luther?" To 
which question Sir Henry > presently underwrit, My religion 
Avas to be found then where yours is not to be found now, in 
the written word of God." — Ibid, 

He did the utmost bounds of knowledge find. 
And found them not so large as was his mind ; 
But like the brave Pellean youth, did moan. 
Because that art had no more worlds than one. 
And when he saw that he through all had passed. 
He died lest he should idle grow at last. — Cowley, 

Archbishop Laud. 
1573-1644. 

Ever since I came in place, I have laboured nothing more 
than that the external public worship of God, so much slighted 
in divers parts of this kingdom, might be preserved, and that 
with as much decency and uniformity as might be. For I 
evidently saw that the public neglect of God's service in the 
outward face of it, and the nasty lying of many places dedi- 
cated to that service, had almost cast a damp upon the true 
and inward worship of God, which while we live in the body, 
needs external helps, and all little enough to keep it in 
any vigour. — Latid, 

A poor creature who never did, said, or wrote anything 
indicating more than the ordinary capacity of an old woman. — 
Macaulay, 

He was a learned, a sincere, and zealous man, regular in his 
own life, and humble in his deportment; but was a hot, 
indiscreet man, eagerly pursuing some matters that were either 
very inconsiderable or mischievous, such as setting the Com- 
munion table by the east walls of churches, bowing to it and 
calling it the altar, the suppressing the Walloons privileges, the 



4^ 



Archbishop Laud — Dr, John Donne, 



breaking of lectures, the encouraging of sports on the Lord's 
day, with some other things that were of no value. — Burnet, 

This man was virtuous, if severity of manners alone, and 
abstinence from pleasure, could deserve that name. He was 
learned, if polemical knowledge could entitle him to that praise. 
He was disinterested, but with unceasing industry he studied 
to exalt the priestly and prelatical character, which was his 
own. His zeal was unrelenting in the cause of religion ; that 
is, in imposing by rigorous measures his own tenets and pious 
ceremonies on the obstinate puritans who had profanely dared 
to oppose him. In prosecution of his holy purposes, he 
overlooked every human consideration \ or in other words, the 
heat and indiscretion of his temper made him neglect the views 
of prudence and rules of good manners. He was in this 
respect happy, that all his enemies were also imagined by him 
the declared enemies to loyalty and true piety, and that every 
exercise of his anger by that means, became in his eyes a merit 
and virtue. This was the man who acquired so great an 
ascendant over Charles, and who led him by the facility of his 
temper into a conduct which proved so fatal to himself and 
to his kingdom. — David Hume. 

He had not knowledge of the world enough to govern 
a petty college. —Bolijigbroke, 

He was certainly no Papist, if by that term is meant one 
who agrees with the Church of Rome in its essential doctrines. 
But he was, in truth, much addicted to the pomp and cere- 
monious observances of that Church j both from his natural 
disposition, which was somewhat superstitious, and from a 
persuasion of the importance of external ceremony in Divine 
worship to the great ends of religion. Hence he was forward 
to catch at any old and obsolete canon that would countenance 
him in reviving any ceremony, not considering the offence such 
innovations (for innovations they would be called on account 
of their long desuetude, whatever might be alleged from some 
canons in their favour) must needs give to the squeamish 
stomachs of that iimQ,— Bishop Hurd, 

Dr. John Donne. 
1573-1631. 

Dr. Donne, the greatest wit, though not the greatest poet of 
our nation. — Dry den. 



Dr. John Donne. 



43 



Corrupted nature sorrow'd that she stood 

So near the danger of becoming good ; 

And when he preach'd, she wished her ears exempt 

From piety, that had such power to tempt. — Chidley. 

His abihties and industry in his profession were so eminent, 
and he so known and beloved by persons of quaUty, that 
within the first year of his entering into sacred orders, he had 
fourteen advowsons of several benefices presented to him. — 
Walton. 

Donne, not first, but greatest of the line 
Of stubborn thoughts a garland thought to twine ; 
To his fair maid brought cabalistic posies. 
And sung fair ditties of metempsychosis ; 
Twists iron pokers into true-love knots. 
Coining hard words not found in polyglots. 

H. Coleridge. 

I know Mr. Donne is a learned man, has the abilities of a 
learned divine, and will prove a powerful preacher ; and my 
desire is to prefer him that way, and in that way I will deny 
you nothing for him.— JT. Ja7nes I. 

I have lived to be useful and comfortable to my good father- 
in-law. Sir George Moore, whose patience God hath been 
j)leased to exercise with many temporal crosses ; I have 
maintained my own mother, whom it hath pleased God after a 
plentiful fortune in her younger days to bring to a great decay 
in her very old age. I have quieted the consciences of many 
who have groaned under the burden of a wounded spirit, 
whose prayers I hope are available for me. I cannot plead 
innocency of life, especially of my youth; but I am to be 
judged by a merciful God, who is not willing to see what 
I have done amiss. — Do7ine. 

None can truly know — = 
Thy life and worth, but he that hath liv'd so. 

Corbet^ Bishop of Oxford. 

Widow'd invention justly doth forbear 

To come abroad, knowing thou art not there. 

Ki7ig^ Bishop of Chichester. 

A man of very extensive and various knowledge. — yohnson. 
He abounds in false thoughts, in far-fetched sentiments, in 



44 Dr. John Domte~Ben Jonson, 



forced unnatural conceits. He was the corrupter of Cowley. 
Dryden was the first who called him a metaphysical poet. 
He had a considerable share of learning ; and though he entered 
late into orders, yet was esteemed a good divine. — Warfon, 

Donne was originally a poet ; his grandfather, on the 
mother's side, was Heywood the epigrammatist ; that Donne 
for not being understood, would perish. He esteemed him the 
first poet in the world for some things ; his verses of the lost 
Ochadme he had by heart, and that passage of the calm that 
dust and feathers did not stir, all was so quiet. He affirmed 
that Donne wrote all his best pieces before he was twenty-five 
years of age. The conceit of Donne's transformation or 
metempsychosis was, that he sought the soul of that apple 
which Eve pulled, and hereafter made it the soul of a bitch, 
then of a she-wolf, and so of a woman ; his general purpose 
was to have brought it into all the bodies of the heretics, from 
the soul of Cain, and at last left it in the body of Calvin. He 
only wrote one sheet of this, and since he was made doctor 
repented earnestly, and resolved to destroy all his poems. — 
Ben Jofison's Conversation ivith Mr. Driiimnond^ 1619. 

The greatest preacher of the seventeenth century. — Quarterly 
Review. 

Do you know Donne? I should like to have some more 
talk with you about him. He was one of those over-metaphy- 
sical headed men, who can find out connexions between 
every thing and any thing, and allowed himself at last to 
become a clergyman after he had (to my conviction at least) 
been as free and deep a speculator in morals as yourself — 
Leigh Hunt to Shelley. 

In Donne's satires when carefully inspected, there appear 
some flashes of wit and ingenuity ; but these totally sufibcated 
and buried by the hardest and most uncouth expression that 
is anywhere to be met with. — Hume. 

Ben Jonson. 

I574-I637- 
Princeps Poetarum. — Selden. 

You track him everywhere in their snow.^ — Dryden, 



Referring to Ben Jonson's imitations of the ancients. — Ed. 



Ben Jonson. 



45 



Then Jonson came, instructed from the school 

To please in method, and invent by rule ; 

His studious patience and laborious art 

By regular approach essay'd the heart. 

Cold approbation gave the lingering bays 

For those who durst not censure, scarce could praise. 

A mortal born, he met the general doom, 

But left, like Egypt's kings, a lasting tomb. — yohnson, 

I was yesterday invited to a solemn supper by Ben Jonson, 
where there was good company, excellent cheer, choice wines, 
and jovial welcome. One thing intervened which almost 
spoilt the relish for the rest, that Ben begun to engross all the 
discourse; to vapour extremely of himself; and by vilifying 
others to magnify his own muse. T. Ca. buzzed me in the 
ear, that tho' Ben had barrelled up a great deal of knowledge, 
yet it seems he had not read the ethics, which, amongst other 
precepts of morality, forbid self-commendations, declaring it 
to be an ill favoured solecism in good manners. — HowelL 

Careless. I am full of Oracles. I am come from Apollo. 

Ernitia. From Apollo ! 

Careless, From the heaven 

Of my delight, where the boon Delphic god^ 
Drinks sack, and keeps his bacchanalia. 
And has his altars and his incense smoking. 
And speaks in sparkling prophecies ; thence I come, 
My brains perfumed with the rich Indian vapour, 
And heightened with conceit. — Mar7nio7ir 

His parts were not so ready to run of themselves, as able to 
answer the spur, so that it may be truly said of him that he had 
an elaborate wit wrought out by his own industry. He would 
sit silent in learned company and suck in (besides wine) their 
several humours into his observation. What was ore in others 
he was able to refine in himself. He was paramount in the 
dramatic parts of poetry, and taught the stage an exact 
conformity to the laws of comedians. His comedies were 
above the Volge (which are only tickled by dov/nright obscenity), 
and took not so well at the first stroke as at the rebound, 
when beheld the second time ; yea, they will endure reading 



^ Namely, from the Apollo Club, of which Ben Jonson was a member. — 
Ed. 



46 



Ben yonson. 



so long as either ingenuity or learning are fashionable in 

our Tidiiion— Fuller, 

After that rare arch poet, Jonson, died 

The sock grew loathsome, and the buskin's pride, 

Together with the stage's glory stood, 

Each like a poor and pitied widowhood. 

The cirque prophaned was, and all postures rackt; 

For men did strut and stride, and stare, not act ; 

Then temper flew from words, and men did squeak, 

Look red, and blow, and bluster — but not speak. 

No holy rage or frantick fires did stir 

Or flash about the spacious theatre ; 

No clap of hand, or shout, or praise's proof 

Did crack the play-house sides, or cleave her roof : 

Artless the scene was, and that monstrous Sin 

Of deep and arrant Ignorance came in — 

Such ignorance as theirs was who once hiss'd 

At thy unequall'd play, the Alchymist : 

O fie upon them ! Lastly too, all wit 

In utter darkness did and still will sit. 

Sleeping the luckless age out — till that she 

Her resurrection has again with thee. — Herrick, 

He did a little too much romanize our tongue. — Dryden. 

'Tis known you can do well, 

And that you do excel 
As a translator ; but when things require 

A genius and fire. 
Not kindled heretofore by others' pains 

As oft you've wanted brains 

And art to strike the white 

As you have levell'd right ; 
Yet if men vouch not things apocryphal, 
You bellow, rave, and spatter round your gall. 

Feltham, 

In ancient learning train'd. 
His rigid judgment fancy's flight restrained ; 
Correctly prun'd each wild luxuriant thought, 
Mark'd out her course, nor spar'd a glorious fault. 
The book of man he read with nicest art, 
And ransack'd all the secrets of the heart 



Ben Jonson — Robert Btirton. 



47 



His comic humour kept the world in awe, 
And laughter frightened folly more than law. 

ClmrchilL 

He would many times exceed in drink ; Canary was his be- 
loved liquor ; he then would tumble home to bed ; and when 
he had thoroughly perspired, then to study. — Aubrey. 

He was not equal to his companions in tragedy, but he was 
superior to them, and perhaps to all others, in his terse, shrewd, 
sterling, vigorous comic scenes. He had a faculty between 
wit and humour (but more nearly allied to the latter) which 
has not been surpassed. His strokes were sometimes as subtle 
as Shakspeare's, but his arrowy wit was not feathered. His 
humour was scarcely so broad and obvious as Fletcher's, but 
it was more reaching and equally true. — Edinburgh Review^ 1S23. 

Jonson possessed all the learning that was wanting to Shak- 
speare, and wanted all the genius which the other possessed. 
Both of them were equally deficient in taste and elegance, in 
harmony and correctness. A servile copyist of the ancients, 
Jonson translated into bad EngHsh the beautiful passages of 
the Greek and Roman authors without accommodating them 
to the manners of his age and country. His merit has been 
totally eclipsed by that of Shakspeare, whose rude genius pre- 
vailed over the rude art of his contemporary. — David Hwne, 

Robert Burton. 
1576-1639. 

Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy" is a valuable book. 
It is perhaps overloaded with quotation ; but there is a great 
spirit and a great power in what Burton says, when he writes 
from his own mind. It is the only book that ever took me 
out of bed two hours sooner than I wished to rise. — Johjison, 

The book in my opinion most useful to a man who 
wishes to acquire the reputation of being well read, with the 
least trouble, is " Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy," the most 
amusing and instructive medley of quotations and classical 
anecdotes I ever perused. But a superficial reader must take 
care, or his intricacies will bewilder him. If, however, ^he has 
patience to go through his volumes, he will be more improved 
for literary conversation than by the perusal of any twenty 



48 Robert Burton — John Selden. 



other works with which I am acquainted — at least in the 
Enghsh language. — Byron, 

The mosaic brain of old Burton — Carlyle, 

I mention the author to you as the pleasantest, the most 
learned, and the most full of sterling sense. The wits of Queen 
Anne's reign, and the beginning of George the First, were not 
a little beholden to him. — Arch. Herring, 

John Selden. 
1584-1654. 

Mr. Selden was a person whom no character can flatter or 
transmit in any expressions equal to his merit and virtue. He 
was of so stupendous learning in all kinds and in all languages 
(as may appear in his excellent and transcendant writings), that 
a man would have thought he had been entirely conversant 
amongst books, and had never spent an hour but in reading 
and writing. Yet his humanity, courtesy, and affability was 
such that he would have been thought to have been bred in 
the best courts, but that his good nature, charity, and delight in 
doing good and in communicating all he knew exceeded that 
breeding. His style in all his writings seems harsh and obscure, 
which is not to be wholly imputed to the abstruse subjects of 
which he commonly treated, out of the paths trod by other 
men, but to a little undervaluing the beauty of a style and too 
much propensity to the language of antiquity. But in his con- 
versation he was the most clear discourser, and had the best 
faculty in making hard things easy and presenting them to the 
understanding of any man that hath been known. Mr. Hyde 
was wont to say that he valued himself upon nothing more than 
upon having had Mr. Selden's acquaintance from the time he 
was very young, and held it with great delight so long as they 
were suffered to continue together in London ; and he was very 
much troubled always when he heard him blamed, censured, 
and reproached, for staying in London, and in the Parliament 
after they were in Rebellion, and in the worst times, which his 
age obliged him to do. And how wicked soever the actions were 
which were every day done, he was confident he had not given 
his consent to them, but would have hindered them if he could 
with his own safety, to which he was always enough indulgent 
If he had some infirmities with other men, they were weighed 



John Selden — Beaumont and Fletcher. 49 



down with wonderful and prodigious abilities and excellencies 
in the other scale. — E. Hyde, Lord Clareiidon, 

He (Sir Matthew Hale) oft professed to me that Mr. Selden 
was a resolved serious Christian, and that he was a great adver- 
sary to Hobbes his errors. — Rev. Richard Baxter, 

Our learned Selden before he died sent for the Most Re- 
verend Archbishop Usher and the Reverend Dr. Langbaine, 
and discoursed to them of this purpose : That he had surveyed 
most part of the Learning that was among the sons of men ; 
that he had his study full of books and papers of most subjects 
in the world ; yet at that time he could not recollect any pas- 
sage out of infinite books and manuscripts he was master of 
wherein he could rest his soul, save out of the Holy Scriptures : 
wherein the most remarkable passage that lay most upon his spirit 
was Titus ii. 11, 12, 13, 14. — G. Berkeley^ Earl of Berkeley. 

Who studies ancient laws and rites, 
Tongues, arts, and arms, and history. 

Must drudge, like Selden, day and night. 
And in the endless labour die. — Bcfitley. 

Walked a good while in the Temple church, observing the 
plainness of Selden's tomb, and how much better one of his 
executors hath, who is buried by him. — Pepys, 1667. 

John Selden is the Champion of Human Law. It fell to his 
lot to live in a time when the life of England was convulsed for 
years together without precedent ; when men searched after the 
ultimate and essential conditions and frames of human society ; 
when each strove fiercely for his rights, and then as dogmatically 
asserted them. Amidst immense, preposterous and inflated 
assumption ; through the horrid Tyranny of the system of the 
Thorough ; in the exciting debates of Parliament j in^ all the 
storm of the Civil War ; in the still fiercer jarring of religious 
sects ; amidst all the phenomena of that age Selden clung to 
the " Law of Kingdom." ''All is as the State pleases." He 
advocates the supremacy of human law against the so-called 
doctrine of divine right. — Edward Arber. 

Beaumont and Fletcher. 

1585-1615; 1576-1625. 

In the elder English dramatists, and mainly in the plays of 
Beaumont and Fletcher, there is a constant recognition of 

E 



50 Beaumont and Fletcher. 

gentility, as if a noble behaviour were as easily marked in 
the society of their age as colour is in our American popu- 
lation. When any Rodrigo, Pedro, or Valerio enters, though 
he be a stranger, the Duke or Governor exclaims, "This is 
a gentleman," and proffers civilities without end ; but all 
the rest are slag or refuse. In harmony with this delight 
in personal advantages, there is in their plays a certain 
heroic cast of character and dialogue — as in " Bonduca," 
"Sophocles," "The Mad Lover," "The Double Marriage" ) 
— wherein the speaker is so earnest and cordial, and on • 
such deep grounds of character that the dialogue on the | 
shghtest additional incident in the plot rises naturally into 
-^otiry, —E7nerso?i, \ 

In easy dialogue is Fletcher's praise. 
He moved the mind, but had not power to raise. — Dryden. 

Their songs are strikingly illustrative of a peculiarity that 
has often struck me in reading the dramas of Beaumont and 
Fletcher ; the absence of any mark of antiquity, either in the i 
diction or the construction. Hardly anything in their verse | 
smacks of the age. They were contemporary with Ben Jonson, |i 
and yet how rugged is his English compared with their fluent • 
and courtly tongue ! They were almost contemporary with a j 
greater than he — a greater far than any or all, and yet Shak- 
speare's blank verse has an antique sound when read after 
theirs. Dryden, himself so perfect a model as regards style, 
says in one of those masterpieces of criticism, the prefaces 
to his plays, that in Beaumont and Fletcher our language has 
attained to its perfection. — M. R. Mitford. 

The comic talents of these authors far exceeded their skill i 
in tragedy. In comedy they founded a new school, at least in 
England, the vestiges of which are still to be traced in our 
theatre. Their plays are at once distinguishable from those of 
their contemporaries by the regard to dramatic effect, which 
influenced the writers' imagination. Though not personally 
connected with the stage they had its picture ever before their i 
eyes. Hence their incidents are numerous and striking, their 
characters sometimes sHghtly sketched, not drawn, like those 
of Jonson, from a preconceived design, but preserving that 
degree of individual distinctness which a common audience ! 
requires, and often highly humourous without extravagance ; 
their language brilliant with wit ; their measure, though they 



Beaumont and Fletcher, 



do not make great use of prose, very lax and rapid, running 
frequently to lines of thirteen and fourteen syllables/ Few of 
their comedies are without a mixture of grave sentiments or 
elevated characters; and though there is much to condemn 
in their indecency and even licentiousness of principle, they 
never descend to the coarse buffoonery not unfrequent in 
their age. Never were dramatic poets more thoroughly gen- 
tlemen according to the standard of their times; and when 
we consider the court of James I. we may say that they were 
above that standard. — Hallam. 

If we may believe the portraits of Fletcher, there was some- 
thing flushed and sanguine in his personal complexion. His 
eye had a fiery and eager look ; his hair inclined to red ; and 
his whole appearance is restless, and, without being heavy, is 
plethoric. And his verse is like himself. It is flushed and full 
of animal spirit. It had as much of this as Marlow's had ; 
but there is not the same extravagance and scarcely the same 
power which is to be found in the verse of the elder dramatist 
Fletcher, however, had a great deal of humour and a great 
deal of sprightliness. There is a buoyancy in his language 
that is never perceptible in Massinger, nor even in the 
shrewder scenes of Ben Jonson. — Lord Jeffrey, 

There was a wonderful similarity between Mr. Francis Beau- 
mont and Mr. John Fletcher, which caused that clearness of 
friendship between them. I have heard Dr. John Earle, since 
Bishop of Sarum, say, who knew them, that his (Beaumont's) 
business was to correct the superflowings of Mr. Fletcher's 
wit. They lived together on the Bankside, not far from the 
playhouse ; both bachelors, had one bench of the house 
between them, which they did so a.dmire ; the same cloathes, 
cloaks, &c., between them. — Aubrey, 

Excellent Beaumont, in the foremost rank 

Of the rar'st wits ! — Heyiuood, 

Francis Beaumont too much loved himself and his own 
verses.- — Jonso7i. 

Beaumont and Fletcher changed the domain of tragedy into 
fairyland — turned all its terrors and its sorrows ^^to favour and 
to prettiness " — shed the rainbow hues of sportive fancy with 



^ Ben Jonson's blank verse is very masterly and individual, and perhaps 
Massinger's is even still nobler. In Beaumont and Fletcher it is constantly' 
slipping into lyricisms, -^Cokridgis *^ Table Talk.^^ 



52 Beaimiont and Fletcher — Philip Massinger, 

equal hand among tyrants and victims, the devoted and the 
faithless, suffering and joy ; and invoked the remorse of a 
moment to change them as with a harlequin's wand ; un- 
realized the terrible, and left "nothing serious in mortality;" 
but reduced the struggle of life to a glittering and heroic game, 
to be played splendidly out and quitted without a sigh. — 
Talfourd. 

They are not safe teachers of morality ; they tamper with it 
like an experiment in corpora vili. . . The tone of Shakspeare's 
writings is manly and bracing ; theirs is at once insipid and 
meretricious in the comparison. — Hazlitt, 

Philip Massinger. 

Massinger seldom rises to any pitch of sublimity, and yet it 
must be owned is never so incorrigibly absurd as his pre- 
decessor (Shakspeare). His performances are all crowded 
with incident but want character, the genuine mark of genius 
in a dramatic poet. — Goldsmith. 

Massinger as a tragic writer appears to me second only to 
Shakspeare \ in the higher comedy I can hardly think him 
inferior to Jonson. In wit and sprightly dialogue, as well as 
in knowledge of theatrical effect, he falls very much below 
Fletcher. These, however, are the great names of the English 
stage. — Hallam. 

When Fox was a young man a copy of Massinger once fell 
into his hands \ he read it, and for some time after could talk 
of nothing but Massinger. — Sa7n. Rogers, 

His muse has been celebrated for its flow, we beUeve by 
Dr. Ferriar ; but we cannot, we confess, perceive much beauty 
in it. It is not rugged and harsh, but it wants music never- 
theless ; it runs in a tolerably regular current, but it has seldom 
any felicitous modulations. Massinger himself has not much 
of the fluctuations of genius. He is less accessible to passion 
than Fletcher and others, and is not often either very elevated 
or very profound. His imagination does not soar like 
Marlow's, nor penetrate like the dark subtle power of Webster. 
He has strength however, and sometimes great majesty of 
diction. He builds up a character to a stately height, although 
he does not often endow it with the turns and vacillations of 
humanity. — Edinburgh Review^ 1823. 



53 



John Webster. 
15^5-1654. 

He was a man of truly original genius, and seems to have 
felt strong pleasure in the strange and fantastic horrors that 
rose up from the dark abyss of his imagination. The vices 
and the crimes which he delights to paint all partake of an 
extravagance, which nevertheless makes them impressive and 
terrible ; and in the retribution and the punishment there is a 
character of corresponding wildness. — He7iry Mackenzie, 

Among English plays, Shelley was a great admirer of the 
" Duchess of Malfi," and thought the dungeon scene, where she 
takes her executioners for allegorical personages of torture 
and murder, or some such grim personifications, as equal to 
anything in Shakspeare. — " Life of Shelley ^ 

W ebster was an unequal writer, full of gloomy power, but 
with touches of profound sentiment and the deepest pathos. 
His imagination rioted upon the grave, and frenzy and murder 
and loathed melancholy" were in his dreams. A common 
calamity was beneath him, and ordinary vengeance was too 
trivial for his muse. His pen distilled blood; and he was 
familiar with the hospital and the charnel-house, and racked 
his brain to outvie the horrors of both. His visions were not of 
heaven nor of the air ; but they came dusky and earthy from 
the tomb ; and the madhouse emptied its cells to do justice 
to the closing of his fearful stories. — Edinburgh Review^ 1823, 

Bishop Sanderson. 
1587-1663. 

Reason and learning, piety and faith, loyalty and liberty, 
together with conscience and candour, all meet together in his 
profoundly cultured mind. — R. Mo7ifgomery? 

His style as a Avriter is occasionally stiff and involved, harsh 
in its allusions, and interspersed largely with learned quota- 
tions. — Church of England Quarterly Revietv. 

I carry my ears to hear other preachers, but my conscience 
to hear Sanderson. — Charles I, 



^ Author of Satan," &c. See Macaulay's Essays." 



54 Bishop Sandersofi-^Thomas Hobbes, 



His learning was methodical and exact, his wisdom useful, 
his integrity visible, and his whole life so unspotted, that all 
ought to be preserved as copies for posterity to write after ; 
the clergy especially, who with impure hands ought not to offer 
sacrifice to that God, whose pure eyes abhor iniquity. — Walton. 

His judgment was so much superior to his fancy, that what- 
soever this suggested, that disliked and controlled j still con- 
sidering and reconsidering, till his time v/as so wasted, that he 
was forced to write, not, probably what was best, but what he 
thought best. — Dr. Sheldon. 

And here I do profess that as I have lived, so I desire and 
(by the grace of God) resolve to die in the communion of the 
Catholic Church of Christ, and a true son of the Church of 
England ; which as it stands by law established to be both in 
doctrine and worship agreeable to the Word of God, and in the 
most, and most material points of both, conformable to the 
faith and practice of the godly churches of Christ in the primi- 
tive and purer times, I do firmly believe : led so to do, not 
so much from the force of custom and education (to which the 
greatest part of mankind owe their different persuasions in 
points of religion) as upon the clear evidence of truth and 
reason, after a serious and impartial examination of the grounds 
as well of popery as puritanism, according to that measure 
of understanding, and those opportunities which God had 
afforded m^.Smderson, 

Thomas Hobbes. 
1588-1679. 

His main principles were that all men acted under an abso- 
lute necessity, in which he seemed protected by the then received 
doctrine of absolute decrees. He seemed to think that the 
universe was God, and that souls were material ; thought being 
only subtil and imperceptible motion. He thought interest 
and fear were the chief principles of society ; and he put all 
morality in the following, that which was our own private will 
and advantage. He thought religion had no other foundation 
than the laws of the land. And he put all the law in the will of 
the Prince or of the People ; for he writ his book at first in 
favour of absolute monarchy, but turned it afterwards to gratify 
the republican party. 



Thomas Hobbes. 



55 



While in dark ignorance we lay afraid 
Of fancies, ghosts, and every empty shade, 
Great Hobbes appear'd, and by plain reason's light 
Put such fantastic forms to shameful flight. 

Dtike of Btickinghanu 

The old anarch Hobbes. — Sydfiey Smith, 
Thomas Hobbes had in language more precise and luminous 
than had ever been employed by" any other metaphysical 
writer, maintained that the will of the prince was the standard 
of right and wrong, and that every subject ought to be ready 
to embrace Popery, Mahomedanism, or Paganism, at the royal 
command. Thousands who were incompetent to appreciate 
what was really valuable in his metaphysical speculations, 
. eagerly welcomed a theory which, while it exalted the kingly 
office, relaxed the obligations of morality and degraded religion 
into a mere affair of state. Hobbism soon became almost an 
essential part of the character of a fine gentleman. — Macaulay. 

Hobbes saw with astonishing rapidity of intuition, some of 
the simplest and most general facts which may be observed in 
the operations of the understanding ; and perhaps no man ever 
possessed the same faculty of conveying his abstract speculations 
in language of such clearness, precision, and force, as to engrave 
them on the mind of the reader. But he did not wait to 
examine whether there might not be other facts equally general 
relating to the intellectual powers ; and he therefore took too 
little from a great many things." He fell into the double error 
of hastily applying his general laws to the most complicated 
processes of thought, without considering whether these general 
laws were not themselves limited by other not less comprehen- 
sive laws, and without trying to discover how they were con- 
nected with particulars, by a scale of intermediate and secondary 
laws. — Edinburgh Review^ 182 1. 

From (Lucretius') time to ours I know none so like him as our 
poet and philospher of Malmesbury. — Drydeii. 

No English author in that age was more celebrated, both 
abroad and at home, than Hobbes. In our time he is much 
neglected \ a lively instance how precarious all reputations 
founded on reasoning and philosophy ! A pleasant comedy 
which paints the manners of the age and exposes a faithful 
picture of nature is a durable work, and is transmitted to the 
latest posterity. But a system, whether physical or metaphy- 
sical, commonly owes its success to its novelty; and is no 



56 Thomas Hohbes — Robert Herrick, 



sooner canvassed with impartiality than its weakness is dis- 
covered. Hobbes's poHtics are fitted only to promote tyranny, 
and his ethics to encourage licentiousness. Though an enemy 
to religion, he partakes nothing of the spirit of scepticism ; but is 
as positive and dogmatical as if human reason, and his reason 
in particular, could obtain a thorough conviction in these 
subjects. Clearness and propriety of style are the chief ex- 
cellencies of Hobbes^s writings. In his own person he is 
represented to have been a man of virtue, a character nowise 
surprising, notwithstanding his libertine system of ethics. 
Timidity is the principal fault with which he is reproached. 
He lived to an extreme old age, yet could never reconcile him- 
self to the thoughts of death. — Hume, History of England.'^ 

Hobbes defines laughter to be a sudden glory arising from a 
sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves, by com- 
parison with infirmity of others or our own former infirmity. 
Taking the language of Hobbes to mean the sudden discovery 
of any inferiority, it will be very easy to show that such is not 
the explanation of that laughter excited by humour ; for I may 
discover suddenly that a person has lost half-a-crown, or that 
his tooth aches, or that his house is not so well built, or his 
coat not so well made as mine, and yet none of these dis- 
coveries give me the slightest sensation of the humorous. — 
Sydney S?nith. 

To my bookseller for Hobbes's ^' Leviathan," which is now 
mightily called for ; and what was heretofore sold for 2>s, I now 
give 2/[s, at the second-hand, and is sold for 30^-., it being a 
book the bishops will not let be printed again. — Pepys, 1668. 

Robert Herrick. 
1591-1674. 

Herrick is the most joyous and gladsome of bards; singing 
like the grasshopper as if he would never grow old. He is as 
fresh as the spring, as blythe as summer, and as ripe as 
autumn. We know of no EngUsh poet who is so completely 
ahandon7ie, as the French term it, who so wholly gives himself 
up to his present feelings, who is so much heart and soul in 
what he writes. The spirit of song dances in his veins, and 
flutters around his lips — now bursting into the joyful and 
hearty voice of the Epicurean, sometimes breathing forth 
strains "soft as the sigh of buried love," and sometimes 



Robert Herrick — Isaak Walton. 57 



uttering feelings of the most delicate pensiveness. His poems 
resemble a luxuriant meadow full of kingcups and wild flowers, 
or a July firmament sparkling with a myriad of stars. His 
fancy fed upon the fair and sweet things of nature ; it is redo- 
lent of roses and jessamine ; it is as light and airy as the 
thistledown, or the bubbles which laughing boys blow into 
the air, where they float into a waving line of beauty. — Sir 
E. Brydges} 

Herrick has passages where the thoughts seem to dance into 
numbers from his very heart, and where he frolics like a being 
made up of melody and pleasure. — Tho7nas Campbell. 

We have lately seen the whole of Herrick's poems repub- 
lished, a coarse-minded and beastly writer, whose dunghill, 
when the few flowers that grew therein had been transplanted, 
ought never to have been disturbed. Those flowers are indeed 
beautiful and perennial ; but they should have been removed 
from the filth and ordure in which they are embedded. — R, 
Southey, 

Isaak Walton. 
1593-1683. 

ON THE COMPLETE ANGLER." 

This book is so like you, and you like it. 
For harmless worth, expression, art, and wit, 
That I protest, ingenuously 'tis true, 

I love this mirth, art, wit, the book, and you. — Rob. Floud, 
In this volume of the " Complete Angler," which will be always 
read with avidity even by those who entertain no strong relish 

^ No man was more laughed at in his day than Sir Egerton Brydges ; 
no man deserves kinder treatment at the hands of posterity. His numerous 
works exhibit a wide extent of knowledge ; his novels are constructed with 
great ingenuity, and written in a diction eminently beautiful and eloquent. 
His poetry is far from mediocre ; but of his compositions undoubtedly the 
very best is his autobiography. His candour is inexpressibly charming. 
He writes with a freedom and power that often raise his language to the 
level of De Quincey's noblest passages. Though disappointed in his own 
ambition he is utterly destitute of prejudice and envy. He asserts the 
merits of a writer with the exultation of a man who has a personal and 
vital interest in the success of what or whom he praises. He must be 
allowed a conspicuous place in that confederation of genius and talent which 
liberated English letters from the dismal thraldom of the eighteenth 
century. — Ed. 



58 



Isaak Walton, 



for the art which it professes to teach, we discover a copious 
vein of innocent pleasantry and good humour. The dialogue 
is diversified with all the characteristic beauties of colloquial 
composition. The songs and little poems which are occa- 
sionally inserted will abundantly gratify the reader who has 
a taste for the charms of pastoral poetry. Above all, those 
lovely lessons of religious and moral instruction, which are 
so repeatedly inculcated throughout the whole work, will ever 
recommend this exquisitely pleasing performance. — Dr, T. 
Zoiuh, 

One who, with the soundest judgment, possessed a sweet- 
ness of expression ever inclining to the bright side of things ; 
a veracity not to be questioned, and a felicity of expression 
peculiarly his own. — -J, Major. 

I have the happiness to know his person, and to be inti- 
mately acquainted v/ith him, and in him to know the worthiest 
man, and to enjoy the best and the truest friend any man ever 
had. — Cotton. 

He (Johnson) talked of Isaac Walton's " Lives," which Vv^as 
one of his most favourite books. Dr. Donne's life, he said, 
was one of the most perfect of them. He observed " that it 
was wonderful that Walton, who was in a very low situation of 
life, should have been familiarly received by so many great 
men, and that at a time when the ranks of society were kept 
more separate than they are now. He supposed that Walton 
had then given up his business as a linendraper and sempster, 
and was only an author 3 " and added that " he was a great 
panegyrist. ^^—Boswell, 

Meek Walton's heavenly memory. — Wordsivortlu 

The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet 

Should have a hook and a small trout to pull it. — Byron, 

Whether we consider the elegant simplicity of the style (of 
the Complete Angler "), the ease and unaffected humour of the 
dialogue, the lovely scenes which it delineates, the enchanting 
pastoral poetry which it contains, or the fine morahty it so 
sweetly inculcates, it has hardly its fellow in any of the 
modern languages. — Sir yohn Haivkins, 



59 



George Herbert. 

That model of a man, a gentleman, and a clergyman.— 

^ ThSuaintness of some of his thoughts (not of his diction 
than which nothing can be more pure, manly, and unatlectea) 
has blinded modern readers to the general merit of his poems, 
which are for the most part exquisite m their kind.— 7^/^. 

The fashion of false wit was revived by several poets ot the 
last age, and in particular may be met with among Mr. Herbert s 
poems. — Addison. 1 -r • 

I have too thoughtful a wit ; a wit like a penknife m too 
narrow a sheath, too sharp for my ho^y,— Herbert, 

Some of the meaner sort of his parish did so love ana 
reverence Mr. Herbert, that they would let their plough rest 
when Mr. Herbert's saints'-bell rung to prayers, that they might 
also offer their devotions to God with him ; and would then 
return back to their plough. And his most holy life was such, 
that it begot such reverence to God and to him, that they 
thought themselves the happier when they carried Mr. Herberts 
blessing back with them to their labour. Thus powerful was 
his reason and example to persuade others to a practical piety 
and devotion.— ^ ^ . r • 

There was in it {i,e,, " The Temple") the picture of a divme 
soul in every page ; and the whole book was such a harmony 
of holy passions as would enrich the v/orld with pleasure and 
piety. — Farrer. 

Neither thek intrinsic excellence, nor the authority ot those 
who can judge of it, will ever make the poems of George 
Herbert popular in the sense in which Scott and Byron are 
popular, because it is to the vulgar a labour instead of a pleasure 
to read them ; and there are parts in them \yhich to such 
judges cannot but be vapid or ridiculous. — Ruskiiu 

A devout earnestness gave elevation to George Herbert's 
conceits. — Prof, Morley, 

James Howell, 
1595-1666. 

He may be called the prodigie of his age for the variety of 
his volumes ... in all his writings there is something still 



6o James Howell— Edimmd Waller. 

new, either in the matter, method, or fancy, and in an untrodden 
tract. Moreover, one may discover a kinde of vein of poesie to 
run through the body of his prose, in the continuity and 
succinctness thereof all along. — Feter Fisher. 

He had a singular command of his pen whether in prose or 
verse, and was well read in modern histories, especially in 
those of the countries wherein he had travelled, had a paraboHcal 
and allusive fancy, according to his motto, Senesco non Segnesco. 
But the reader is to know that his writings having been only 
to gain a livelihood, and by their dedications to flatter great 
and noble persons, are very trite and empty, stolen from other 
authors without acknowledgment, and fitted only to please 
the humours of novices. — Anthony a Wood. 

He is^ one of the earliest instances of a man successfully 
maintaining himself with the fruits of his pen. — Edward Arber. 

Howell, the author of ''Familiar Letters," &c., wrote the 
chief part of them, and almost all his other works, during his 
long confinement in the Fleet prison ; some say for debts which 
his irregular living had occasioned, and others for political 
reasons. ^ This is certain, that he used his pen for subsistence 
in that imprisonment, and there produced one of the most 
agreeable works in the English language.^—/. U Israeli. 

Edmund Waller. 
1605-1687. 

A poet who addresses his pieces to living characters, and 
confines himself to the subjects and anecdotes of his own 
times, like this courtly author, bids fairer to become popular, 
than he that is employed in the higher scenes of poetry and 
fiction, which are more remote from common manners. It 
may be remarked, lastly, of Waller, that there is no passion in 
his love-verses, and that one elegy of TibuUus, so well imitated 
by Hammond, excels a volume of the most refined panegyric. — 
Warton. 

Waller was smooth. — Pope. 

He drank only water, and while he sat in a company 



1 Of this work Sergeant-Major Peter Fisher, poet-laureate to the Protector, 
says, "He teacheth a new way of Epistolizing ; and that 'Familiar 
Letters ' may not only consist of words and a bombast of compliments, but 
that they are capable of the highest speculations and solidest kind of know- 
ledge." 



Edmund Waller, 



6i 



who were drinking wine, he had the dexterity to accommodate 
his discourse to the pitch of theirs as it sunk. — Biographia 
Brita7inica, 

Waller was the delight of the house ; and even at eighty he 
said the liveHest things of any amongst them; he was only 
concerned to say that which should make him be applauded. 
But he never laid the business of the house to heart, being a 
vain and empty, though a witty man. He deserves the 
character of being one of the great refiners of our language and 
poetry. He was for near sixty years one of the best of our 
writers that way. — Burnet, 

There needs no more be said to extol the excellence and 
power of his wit, and pleasantness of his conversation, than 
that it was of a magnitude enough to cover a world of very 
great faults ; that is, so to cover them that they were not taken 
notice of to his reproach. — Clare^idon. 

He added something to our elegance of diction, and some- 
thing to our propriety of thought. — yohnson. 

Waller had much more than may at first sight appear 
in common with Bacon. To the higher intellectual English 
qualities of the great English philosopher, to the genius which 
has made an immortal epoch in the history of science. 
Waller had indeed no pretensions. But the mind of Waller, as 
far as it extended, coincided with that of Bacon, and might, so 
to speak, have been cut out of that of Bacon. In the qualities 
which make a man an object of interest and veneration to 
posterity, they cannot be compared together. But in the 
qualities by which chiefly a man is known to his contemporaries, 
there was a striking similarity between them. Considered as 
men of the world, as courtiers, as politicians, as associates, as 
allies, as enemies, they had nearly the same merits and the 
same defects. They were not malignant. They were not 
tyrannical. But they wanted warmth of afl'ection and elevation 
of sentiment. — Macaulay. 

Thy verse, harmonious bard, and flattering song, 
Can make the vanquished great, the coward strong ; 
Thy verse can show ev'n Cromwell's innocence. 
And compliment the storm that bore him hence. 

Addison, 

If Waller diflered from the Cowleyeian sect of writers, he 
differed for the worse. He had as little poetry as they, and 



62 Edmund Waller — Sir Thomas Browne, 

much less wit ; nor is the languor of his verses less offensive 
than the ruggedness of theirs. — Edinburgh Review^ 1828. 

Let us not condemn him with untempered severity because 
he was not a prodigy which the world had seldom seen, 
because his character included not the poet, the orator, and the 
hero. — Percival Stockdale. 

It is not easy to think without some contempt on an author, 
who is growing illustrious in his own opinion by vers^ at^one 
time " To a Lady who can do Anything but Sleep when She 
Pleases at another To a Lady on her Passing through a 
Crowd of People then " On a Braid of Divers Colours woven 
by Four Ladies /' " On a Tree cut in Paper or ^^-A Lady from 
whom he received the Copy of Verses on the Paper-tree, which 
for many years had been Missing." Genius now and then 
produces a lucky trifle. We still read the Dove" of Anacreon, 
and "Sparrow" of Catullus; and a writer naturally pleases him- 
self with a performance which owes nothing to the subject. But 
compositions merely pretty have the fate of other pretty things, 
and are quitted in time for something useful ; they are flowers 
fragrant and fair, but of short duration ; or they are blossoms to 
be valued only as they foretell fruit. — yohnson. 

Sir Thomas Browne. 
1605-1682. 

As Bacon seemed to bend all his thoughts to the practice of 
life, and to bring home the light of science to the bosoms 
and businesses of men," Sir Thomas Browne seemed to be of 
opinion that the only business of life was to think ; and that 
the proper object of speculation was, by darkening knowledge, 
to breed more speculation and " to find no end in wandering 
mazes lost." He chose the incomprehensible and impracti- 
cable, as almost the only subjects fit for a lofty and lasting 
contemplation, or for the exercise of a solid faith. He cried 
out for an " Oh altitude," beyond the heights of revelation, 
and posed himself with apocryphal mysteries as the pastime of 
his leisure hours. He pushes a question to the utmost verge 
of conjecture, that he may repose on the certainty of doubt; 
and he removes an object to the greatest distance from him, 
that he may take a high and abstracted interest in it, consider 
it in relation to the sum of things, not to himself, and bewilder 
his understanding in the universality of its nature, and the 



Sir Thomas Browne. 



63 



inscrutableness of its origin. His is the sublime of indif- 
I ference ; a passion for the abstruse and imaginary. He turns 
\ the world round for his amusement as if it was a globe of 
pasteboard. — Hazlitt, 
\ He had of the earth such a minute and geographical know- 
I ledge, as if he had been by divine Providence ordained 
i surveyor-general of the whole terrestrial orb. — y. WJiitefoot. 
His style strikes", but does not please ; his tropes are hard, 
and his combinations uncouth. . . . His innovations are 
sometjmes pleasing, and his temerities happy. ... It is 
on his own writings that Browne is to depend for the esteem of 
posterity, of which he shall not be easily deprived v/hile learn- 
ing shall have any reverence among men. — Z^r. yoJmson} 
He was worthy to be the disciple of the sage who said 
man was born to contemplate." His pages are filled with a 
lofty and ideal morality, and his maxims are bright with 
' luminous, if with unconnected truths. In some respects he 
I was among the prose writers of that day what Wordsworth is 
I among the poets of this — dedicating even the familiar to the 
beautiful, and not disdaining to suck divinity from the 
. flowers of nature." He cannot allow ugliness to a toad or a 
i bear — and " even that vulgar and tavern music, which makes 
one man merry, another mad, strikes in him a deep fit of 
devotion, and a profound contemplation of the First Composer. 
There is in it a hieroglyphical and shadowed lesson of the 
whole world and creatures of God — such a melody to the ear 
as the whole world, well understood, would afford the under- 
I standing." It is from such hints and suggestions of thought 
' that Browne, as Wordsworth, plumes his wings, and raises 
himself beyond the visible diurnal sphere." A temperament 
somewhat common to both, was in both fed by similar political 
tenets and theological veneration ; apart from the anxious and 
. exciting cares of men who struggle actively with or against the 
I multitude. The "Religio Medici" is one of the most beautiful 
; prose poems in the language ; its power of diction, its subtlety 
and largeness of thought, its exquisite conceits and images, 
I have no parallel out of the writers of that brilliant age, when 
Poetry and Prose have not yet divided their domain, and the 



^ Such is the sing-song criticism of a man who was not only reverenced 
as the patriarch of the literature of his day, but obeyed as the dictator. — 
Ed, 



64 Sir Thomas Browne — Sir William Davenant, 



Lyceum of Philosophy was watered by the Ilissus of the 
Nine. — Lord Jeffrey . 

Sir William Davenant. 
1606-1668. 

Read a few pages of Will D'Avenant, who was fond ot 
having it supposed that Shakspeare intrigued with his mother. 
I think the pretension can only be treated as Phaeton was, ac- 
cording to Fielding's farce : — 

Besides, by all the village boys I'm shamed, 
You, the sun's son, you rascal ? you be damn'd ! 

Sir Walter Scott 

The scenic decoration of the age of Charles II. was intro- 
duced by Sir William Davenant at the Restoration. Sir William 
had imbibed a passion for the Italian system. This, there can 
be no doubt, was very alien to the comparative simplicity of 
the Shakspearian stage. The theatre of the age of EHzabeth, 
though not like that of Athens, open to the sky, was more 
frequently open to the natural light. Scenic representations 
usually took place by day. Now, it certainly appears to be an 
inconsistency in the abstract, that those who disparage the plays 
of Dryden for an alleged approximation to the imitative drama 
of France, should applaud the drama of the sixteenth century 
for a similar approximation to the scenic arrangements of the 
Athenian stage. Such arrangements might afford greater scope 
for the development of histrionic art ; but they would not there- 
fore necessarily conduce to a more vivid representation of life. 
The inference is to the contrary; since the decorations of 
Davenant were deemed essential in an age which possessed 
the most celebrated actors. — Edhi. Review^ 1^55. 

John Milton. 
1608-1674. 

" If you scruple to give the title of an epic poem to the 
Paradise Lost " of Milton, call it, if you choose, a Divine 
poem ; give it whatever name you please, provided you con- 
fess that it is a work as admirable in its kind as the IHad." — 
Addison. 

Undoubtedly Paradise Lost " is one of the greatest, most 



John Milton. 65 
noble, and most sublime poems which either this age or nation 
'^Xt:td7m^-^^^ 

rock but could not carve heads upon cherry-stones. --Johnson. 

One of the greatest and most daring genius's that has ap- 
pear'd in the world, and who has made his country a glorious 
present of the most lofty but most irregular poem that has been 
produc'd by the mind of man. That ^eat man had a desire 
to give the world something like an Epick Poeni; but he 
resolv'd at the same time to break thro' the rules of Aristotle. 

Milton was the first who in the space of almost 4000 years 
'resoiv'd for his country's honour and his own, to present the 
world with an original poem : that is to say, a poem that should 
have his own thoughts, his own images, and his own spirit.— 

Much admired by all at home for the poems he ^vri_t, tho' he 
waV Aen Wind ; chiefly that of " Paradise Lost,' m which there 
is a nobleness both of contrivance and execution, that tho he 
affected to write in blank verse without rhyme, and made many 
new and rough words, yet it was esteemed the beautifullest and 
perfectest poem that ever was writ, at least in our language.— 

^Tbegan thus far to assent ... to an inward prompting \vliich 
now grew daily upon me, that by labour and intent study (which I 
take to be my portion in this life), joined with the strong pro- 
pensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written 
to aftertimes as they should not willingly let it Ax^.—Mtlton. 

We owe the great writers of the golden age of our literature to 
that fervid awakening of the public mind which shook to dust 
the oldest and most oppressive form of the Christian religion. 
We owe Milton to the progress and development of the same 
spirit • the sacred Milton was, be it ever remembered, a repub- 
lican and a bold inquirer into morals and religion 

I should much commend the tragical part if the lyrical did 
not ravish me with a certain Dorique delicacy m your songs 
and odes whereunto I must plainly confess to you I have seen 
yet nothing parallel in our language.— ZT^wrj Wotto?i. 

The sight of his book, the sound of his name, are pleasant to 
us. His thoughts resemble those celestial fruits and flowers 

iln reply to Hannah More having expressed a "wonder that' the poet 
who had written ' Paradise Lost ' should write such poor sonnets. — h-D. 

F 



66 



John Milton. 



which the Virgin Martyr of Massinger sent down from the 
gardens of Paradise to the earth, and which were distinguished 
from the production of the soils, not only by superior bloom and 
sweetness, but by miraculous efficacy to invigorate and to heal. 
They are powerful, not only to delight, but to elevate and 
purify. — Macau I ay. 

Milton is indeed an august example of the aspiration to self- 
completion, not only as to scope and strength, but as to orna- 
ment and grace. In the tastes and characteristics of his 
youth, this severe republican, who has come down to the vulgar 
gaze in colours so stern though so sublime, rather presents to 
us the idealized image of the EHzabethan cavalier. Philip 
Sydney himself was not more the type of the all-accomphshed 
and consummate gentleman. Beautiful in person — courtly in 
address — skilled in the gallant exercise of arms — a master of 
each manlier as each softer art — versed in music— in song — in 
the languages of Europe — the admired gallant of the dames 
and nobles of Italy — the cynosure of all eyes that " rained 
influence and adjudged " — he, the destined Dante of England, 
was rather in his youth the brilliant personification of the 
mythical Crichton. — Lo7'd Lytton. 

. The old blind schoolmaster hath published a tedious poem 
on the Fall of Man. If its length be not considered as merit 
it hath no other. — Waller. 

This man cuts us all out and the ancients too. — Dry den. 
Reading Milton is like dining off gold plate in a company of 
kings ; very splendid, very ceremonious, and not a little appal- 
ling. Him I read but seldom, and only in high days and 
festivals of the spirit. ■ Him I never lay down without feeling 
my appreciation increased for lesser men — never without the 
same kind of comfort that one returning from the presence 
feels when he dofls respectful attitude and dress of arm.oury, 
and subsides into old coat, familiar arm-chair and slippers. 
After a long-continued organ music, the jangle of the Jev/s 
harp is felt as an exquisite relief. — A. S??iith. 

His soul was like a star and dwelt apart. — Wordsworth. 
The mighty orb of song. — Ibid. 

Milton's strong pinion now not heaven can bound, 
Now serpent-like, in prose he sweeps the ground ; 
In quibbles, angel and archangel join. 
And God the Father turns a school divine.— Pt?/^. 
The poems of Milton betray a narrowness of education and 



John Milton. — Lord Ciarendon, 



67 



a degeneracy of habit. His theological quibbles and perplexed 
speculations are daily equalled and excelled by the most abject 
enthusiasts ; and if we consider him as a prose writer, he has 
neither the learning of a scholar nor the manners of a gentle- 
man. There is no force in his reasonings, no eloquence in his 
style, and no taste in his composition. — Golds?nith, 

It is owing in part to his blindness, but more perhaps to his 
general residence in a city, that Milton, in the words of Cole- 
ridge, is not a picturesque but a musical poet or, as I would 
prefer to say, is the latter more of the two. He describes visible 
things, and often with great powers of rendering them manifest, 
what the Greeks called evda)veta, though seldom with so much 
circumstantial exactness of observation as Spenser or Dante ; 
but he feels music. The sense of vision delighted his imagina- 
tion, but that of sound wrapped his whole soul in ecstasy. One 
of his trifling faults may be connected with this, the excessive 
passion he displays for stringing together sonorous names, 
sometimes so obscure that the reader associates nothing with 
them, as the word " Namancos " in Lycidas," which long 
baffled his commentators. — Ha //am. 

There was a period of his life when Fox used to say that he 
could not forgive Milton for having occasioned him the trouble 
of reading through a poem (" Paradise Lost "), three parts of 
which were not worth reading. He afterwards, however, esti- 
mated it more justly. Milton's prose works he never could 
endure.^ — Samiie/ Rogers, 

It is certain that this author, v\^hen in a happy mood, and 
employed on a noble subject, is the most wonderfully sublime 
of any poet in any language : Homer, and Lucretius, and Tasso 
not excepted. — Hinne^ History of Eng/and''' 

Lord Clarendon. 
1608-1674. 

The character of Lord Chancellor Clarendon seems to gtow 
every day brighter the more it is scrutinized, and his integrity 
and abilities are more ascertained and acknowledged, even 



^ Home Tooke, on the contrary, was such a passionate admirer of Milton's 
prose works, that, as he assured Rogers, he had transcribed them all in his 
youth. — Ed. 



F 2 



68 



Lord Clarendon, 



from the publication of private papers never intended to see 
the hght. — Warton. 

He himself has left us more lasting memorials of his exis- 
tence than marble or brass could furnish ; and he certainly is a 
memorable personage in our annals, both by his actions and 
his writings. Without the original genius and comprehensive 
grasp of intellect which distinguished his predecessor Bacon, 
he had an acute and vigorous understanding, which, united 
with unwearied industry, made him a man of most respectable 
acquirements, and admirably adapted him for the scenes 
through which he was to pass. In ordinary times he would 
have been known during his life merely to his own family, his 
personal friends, and his profession, and would have been for- 
gotten as soon as the tomb had closed over him ; but amidst 
civil strife and revolutions, he was qualified to take a leading 
part, and to influence the opinions and the conduct of mankind. 
For delicacy of observation and felicity of delineation of the 
characters of contemporaries, he is almost without a rival. — 
Lord Camphell. 

The Earl of Clarendon was a good Chancellor, only a little 
too rough, but very impartial in the administration of justice. 
He never seemed to understand foreign affairs well ; and yet 
he meddled too much in them. He had too much levity in 
his wit, and did not always observe the decorum of his post. 
He was high, and was apt to reject with too much con- 
tempt those who addressed themselves to him. He had 
such a regard to the king, that when places were disposed of, 
even otherwise than as he advised, yet he would justify what 
the king did, and disparage the intention of others, not with- 
out much scorn \ which created him many enemies. He was 
indefatigable in business, tho' the gout did often disable him 
from waiting on the king ; yet, during his credit, the king came 
constantly to him when he was laid up by it. — Burnet, 

You are quite right to read Clarendon — his style is a little 
long-winded ; but, on the other hand, his characters may match 
those of the other historians, and one thinks one would know 
the very men were one to meet them in society. Few EngHsh 
writers have the same precision either in describing the actors 
in great scenes, or the deeds which they performed. — Sir 
Walter Scott. 

No man wrote abler State papers. No man spoke with more 
weight and dignity in council and in Parliament. No man 



Lord Clarendon, 



69 



was better acquainted with general maxims of state-craft. No 
man observed the varieties of character with a more discrimi- 
nating eye. It must be added that he had a strong sense of 
religious and moral obligation, a sincere reverence for the laws 
of his country, and a conscientious regard for the honour and 
interest of the crown. But his temper was sour, arrogant, and 
impatient of contradiction. Above all, he had long been an 
exile ; and this circumstance alone would have disqualified him 
for the supreme direction of affairs. — Macatday. 

Hume alludes to Clarendon as the great contemporary 
authority, in terms which every delighted student must wish 
to adopt. Hume certainly would not have been justified in 
casting a stone at any one upon the score of historical dis- 
honesty; but the unfairness of the noble historian is a taint 
that spreads so far, and under circumstances so inexcusable, that 
we can truly say there are few delusions of which it has been 
so painful and discouraging to us to be disabused, as that 
under which we once fancied Clarendon a sort of EngHsh 
Sully. — Edinburgh Review. 

Clarendon will always be esteemed an entertaining writer, 
even independent of our curiosity to know the facts which he 
relates. His style is prolix and redundant, and suffocates us by 
the length of its periods; but it discovers imagination and 
sentiment, and pleases us at the same time that we disapprove 
of it. He is more partial in appearance than in reality ; for he 
seems perpetually anxious to apologise for the king ; but his 
apologies are often well grounded. He is less partial in his 
relation of facts than in his account of characters ; he was too 
honest a man to falsify the former ; his affections were easily 
capable, unknown to himself, of disguising the latter. An air 
of probity and goodness runs through the whole work, as these 
qualities did in reaHty embellish the whole life of the author. — 
Himie. 

Able rather than wise ; obsequious, though aspiring ; well 
aware of the oppressions under which the nation was suffering, 
yet^ courting its oppressors : — it is difficult to reconcile the 
easiness of his unconcern with much public virtue, or his 
ignorance of the resistance which was already all but knocking at 
the door, with any portion of that knowledge of human nature of 
which his writings appear so full. — '''Life of Clarendo7i,'' ^ 

No one who regards with attachment the present system of 
the English constitution can look upon him as an excellent 



70 



Lord Clarendon— Thomas Fuller, 



minister or a friend to the soundest principles of civil and religious 
liberty. . . He dares very frequently to say what is not true, 
and what he must have known to be otherv/ise ; he does not dare 
to say what is true. And it is almost an aggravation of this re- 
proach, that he aimed to deceive posterity, and poisoned at 
the fountain a stream from which another generation was to 
drink. No defence has ever been set up for the fidelity of 
Clarendon's history ; nor can men, who have sifted the authentic 
materials, entertain much difference of judgment in this respect ; 
though as a monument of powerful abihty and impressive 
eloquence, it will always be read with that delight which we 
receive from many great historians, especially the ancient, 
independent of any confidence in their veracity. — Hallam. 

I am reading Clarendon, but scarcely get on faster than you 
did with your Charles the Fifth." I think the style bad, and 
that he has a good deal of the old woman in his way of think- 
ing ; but hate the opposite party so much that it gives one a 
kind of partiality for him. — George Selwyn. 

Lord Clarendon's style is verbose, careless, and frequently 
even perplexed. Yet, with all these faults, there is so much 
life and vigour in his conceptions, and in his expression of 
them, and he every^vhere discovers such a purity of mind and 
dignity of moral sentiment, that few writers in the English 
language give the reader more pleasure. — Dr. Hurd. 

Thomas Fuller. 
1608-1661. 

Next to Shakspeare I am not certain whether Thomas 
Fuller, beyond all writers, does not excite in me the sense and 
emotions of the marvellous ; the degree in which any given 
faculty, or combination of faculties, is possessed and manifested 
so far surpassing what one would have thought possible in a 
single mind, as to give one's admiration the flavour and quality 
of wonder. — Coleridge, 

Fuller is one of the few voluminous authors who is never 
tedious. No matter where v/e pitch we are sure to alight on 
something that stimulates attention. Nor do we know any 
author so voluminous, to which we could so fearlessly apply the 
ad aperhirani libri test. Let the subject be ever so dry or 
barren, he is sure to surround it with some unlooked-for 



Thomas Fuller. 



71 



felicity, or at least some entertaining oddity of thought or 
expression ; the most meagre matter-of-fact shall suggest either 
some solid reflection, or some curious inference, or some in- 
genious allusion, or some humorous story ; or if nothing better, 
some sportive alliteration or ludicrous pun. To this must 
be added that his reflections and his images are in general 
so exceedingly novel (often, it is true, far-fetched and quaint 
enough, but frequently very beautiful) that they surprise as 
well as please ; and please in a great measure by surprising 
us. Probably there is no author who so often breaks upon 
his readers with turns of thought for which they are totally 
unprepared ; and it would be amusing to watch the countenance 
of any intelligent man whilst perusing his pages. — Edinburgh 
Review^ 1842. 

Through the whole of his church history he is so fond of his 
own wit, that he does not seem to have minded what he was 
about. The gravity of an historian (much more of an eccle- 
siastical one) requires a far greater care, both of the matter and 
style of his work than is here to be met with. If a pretty story 
comes in his way that afl"ords scope for clinch and droll, ofl" it 
goes with all the gaiety of the stage, without staying to inquire 
whether it have any truth or not ; and even the most serious 
and authentic parts of it are so interlaced with pun and quibble, 
that it looks as if the man had designed to ridicule the annals 
of our church into fable and romance. — Bishop Nicholson, 

He was in the habit of miting the first words of every line 
near the margin down to the foot of the paper, and, then be- 
ginning again, he filled up the vacuities exactly, without spaces, 
interlineations, or contractions ; and he would so connect the 
ends and beginnings that the sense would appear as complete 
as if it had been written in a continued series, after the ordi- 
nary manner. — " Life and Writi?igs of Ihomas Fuller T 

The writings of Fuller are usually designated by the title of 
quaint, and with sufficient reason; for such was his natural 
bias to conceits, that I doubt not, upon most occasions, it 
would have been going out of his way to have expressed him- 
self out of them. But his wit is not always hmen siccn?n, a dry 
faculty of surprising. On the contrary, his conceits are often- 
times deeply steeped in human feeling and passion. Above 
all, his way of telling a story, for its eager liveliness, and the 
perpetual running commentary of the narrator happily blended 
with the narration, is perhaps unequalled. — Charles Lamb, 



72 



Samuel Butler. 
i6i2~i68o. 

There is in " Hudibras " a great deal of bullion that will 
always last. But to be sure the highest strokes of his wit owed 
their force to the impression of the characters which was upon 
men's minds at the time, to their knowing them at table and in 
the street, in being familiar with them, and, above all, to his 
satire being directed against those whom a little while before 
they had hated and feared. — Johison, 

Of all his gains by verse he could not save 
Enough to purchase flannel and a grave. — Oldham, 

To the Wardrobe ; hither come Mr. Battersby ; and we falling 
into discourse of a newbook of drollery in use called " Hudebras," 
I would needs go find it out, and met with it at the Temple ; cost 
me 2S. and 6d. But when I came to read it, it is so silly an 
abuse of the Presbyter Knight going to the warrs, that I am 
ashamed of it ; and by and by meeting at Mr. Townsend's at 
dinner, I sold it to him for i8d. — Pepys, 

While Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive, 

No generous patron would a dinner give. 

See him, when starv'd to death and turn'd to dust, 

Presented with a monumental bust ; 

The poet's fate is here in emblem shown: 

He ask'd for bread, and he receiv'd a stone. 

C. Wesley} 

The reigning taste was so bad that the success of a writer 
was in inverse proportion to his labour and to his desire of 
excellence. An exception must be made for Butler, who had 
as much wit and learning as Cowley, and who knew, what 
Cowley never knew, how to use them. A great command of 
good homely English distinguishes him still more from the 
other writers of the time. — Macatilay. 



1 Charles Wesley, "a man," says Macaulay, whose eloquence and 
logical acuteness might have made him eminent in literature, whose genius 
for government was not inferior to that of Richelieu, and who, whatever 
his errors may have been, devoted all his powers, in defiance of obloquy 
and derision, to what he sincerely considered as the highest good of his 
species." 



Samuel Butler. 



73 



No composition abounds so much as Hudibras " in strokes 
of just and inimitable wit : yet are there many performances 
which give us great or greater entertainment on the whole 
perusal. The allusions in Butler are often dark and far-fetched, 
and though scarcely any author was ever able to express his 
thoughts in so few words, he often employs too many thoughts 
on one subject, and thereby becomes prolix after an unusual 
manner. It is surprising how much erudition Butler has intro- 
duced with so good a grace into a work of pleasantry and 
humour; Hudibras " is perhaps one of the most learned com- 
positions that is to be found in any language. — Hume, ^ 

Mr. Wycherley had always laid hold of any opportunity which 
offered of representing to the Duke of Buckingham how well 
Mr. Butler had deserved of the Royal family, by writing his 
inimitable Hudibras and that it was a reproach to the 
Court that a person of his loyalty and wit should suffer in 
obscurity and under the wants he did. The Duke always 
seemed to hearken to him with attention enough ; and after 
some time undertook to recommend his pretensions to his 
Majesty. Mr. Wycherley, in hopes to keep him standing to his 
word, obtained of his grace to name a day when he might 
introduce that modest and unfortunate poet to his new patron. 
At last an appointment was made, and the place of meeting 
was agreed to be the Roebuck. Mr. Butler and his friend 
attended accordingly ; the Duke joined them ; but as the 
D — 1 would have it, the door of the room where they sat was 
open, and his grace, who had seated himself near it, observing 
a pimp of his acquaintance (the creature too was a knight) trip 
by with a brace of ladies, immediately quitted his engagement 
to follow another kind of business, at which he was more 
ready than in doing good offices to men of desert, though no 
one was better qualified than he, both in regard to his fortune 
and his understanding, to protect them ; and from that time to 
the day of his death poor Butler never found the least effect of 
his promise.^ — Packers "Life of Wycherley.'^ 



^ In the mist of obscurity passed the life of Butler, a man whose name 
can only perish with his language. The mode and place of his education 
are unknown ; the events of his life are variously related ; and all that can 
be told with certainty is that he was poor. — Johnson^ s Lije of Butler,^' 



74 



Jeremy Taylor. 
1613-1667. 

A spirit. . . burning with Christian love ; a man constitutionally 
overflowing with pleasurable kindliness, who scarcely even in a 
casual illustration introduces the image of a woman, child, or 
bird, but he embalms the thought with so rich a tenderness as 
makes the very words seem beauties and fragments of poetry 
from a Euripides or Simonides. — Coleridge} 

Next to Chillingworth,''^ we know none of our older authors 
by whom the uncertainty of tradition, and the egregious folly of 
trusting to it, have been more completely demonstrated than 
by Jeremy Taylor. His learning is so profuse, and his imagi- 
nation so brilliant, as to throw into the shade his other endow- 
ments. But when he does himself full justice, his logic is quite 
equal to his rhetoric. — Ediubw^gh Review^ 1844. 

This extraordinary man was endowed to excess with all the 
gifts of a great writer, but instead of balancing and correcting 



^ Taylor's was a great and lovely mind ; yet how much and how in- 
juriously was it perverted by his being a follower of Laud, and by his 
intensely popish feelings of Church authority ! His ' ' Liberty of Pro- 
phesying" is a work of wonderful eloquence and skill; but if we believe 
the argument, what are we come to ? Why, to nothing more nor less than 
this, that — so much can be said for every opinion and sect, so impossible is 
it to settle anything by reasoning or authority of Scripture— we must appeal 
to some positive jurisdiction on earth, ut sit finis conU^ovej'sim'uni. In 
fact, the whole book is the precise argument used by papists, to induce men 
to admit the necessity of a supreme and infallible head of the church on 
earth. It is one of the works which pre-eminently gives countenance 
to the saying of Charles 11. or James II. — I forget which — " When you 
of the Church of England contend with the Catholics, you use the argu- 
ment of the Puritans ; when you contend with the Puritans you imme- 
diately adopt all the weapons of the Catholics." Taylor never speaks with 
the slightest respect or affection of Luther, Calvin, or any other of the 
great Reformers ; at least, not in any of his learned works ; but he saints 
every trumpery monk or friar, down to the very latest canonizations of the 
Pope. I fear you will think me harsh when I say that I believe Taylor 
was perhaps unconsciously half a Socinian in heart. — " Table Talk.''^ 

^ Of Chillingvv'orth, Gibbon says: "His frequent changes proceeded 
from too nice an inquisition into truth. His doubts grew out of himself ; 
he assisted them with all the strength of his reason ; he was then too hard 
for himself ; but finding as little quiet and repose in those victories, he 
quickly recovered by a new appeal to his own judgment ; so that in all his 
sallies and retreats he was in fact his own convert." "Bayle and Chilling- 
worth," says Macaulay, " two of the most sceptical of mankind, turned 
CathoHcs from sincere conviction," 



Jeremy Taylor. 



75 



each other, each seems to seize him by turns, and hurry him 
away in unresisted mastery. His consummate reasoning powers 
are perpetually betraying him into refinements and subtleties. 
The inexhaustible learning of Taylor is uncritical beyond his 
time ; passages from every quarter are heaped up with indiscri- 
minate profusion — loose, fragmentary, of all ages, of every shade 
of authority. His poetic imagination is not merely redundant 
of the richest and most varied imagery, but w^orks out every 
image and illustration to the most remote and fanciful analogies. 
His very command of language seems to involve him in intri- 
cate and endless sentences, in order that he may show his 
wonderful power of evolving himself with apparent ease, and of 
giving a kind of rhythm and harmony, a cadence sometimes 
sweet to lusciousness, to this long-drawn succession of words 
and images. — Quarterly Review. 

For eloquence we must ascend as high as the days of Barrow 
and Jeremy Taylor ; and even there, while we are delighted 
with their energy, their copiousness, and their fancy, we are in 
danger of being suffocated by a redundance that abhors all dis- 
crimination, which compares till it perplexes, and illustrates till 
it confounds. — Sydney Smith. 

By his florid and youthful beauty, his sweet and pleasant air, 
his sublime and raised discourses, he made his hearers take 
him for some young angel descended from the visions of glory. 
—Dr. Riist. 

He was a person of a most swxet and obliging humor, of 
great candour and ingenuity ; and there was so much of salt 
and fineness of wit, and prettiness of address in his famihar 
discourses, as made his conversation have all the pleasantness 
of a comedy and all the usefulness of a sermon ; his soul was 
made up of harmony, and he never spoke but he charmed his 
hearers with the clearness of his reason, whilst all his words, 
and his very tones and cadences were strangely musical. — Ibid.'^ 

His writings are a perpetual feast to me. His hospitable 

^ A yet higher character has been given by this divine : — " He had," he 
says, ' ' the good humour of a gentleman, the eloquence of an orator, the 
fancy of a poet, the acuteness of a schoolman, the profoundness of a 
philosopher, the wisdom of a chancellor, the sagacity of a prophet, the 
reason of an angel, and the piety of a saint. He had devotion enough for 
a cloister, learning enough for a university, and wit enough for a college of 
virtuosi ; and had his parts and endowments been parcelled out 'amongst 
his clergy that he left behind him, it would perhaps have made one of the 
best dioceses in the world." 



76 



Jeremy Taylor — Richard Baxter, 



board groans under the weight and multitude of viands. Yet I 
seldom rise from his perusal without recollecting the excellent 
observation of Minucius Felix : Fabulas et error es ab imperitis 
parentibus discimiis et^ quod gravius est, ipsis studiis et disciplmis 
elaboraimisT — Soiithey. 

All his defects in style are more than compensated by the 
splendid imagery with which he so frequently clothes his ideas. 
Thoughts which, expressed by a common writer, would pass off 
the mind without striking the imagination or impressing them- 
selves on the memory, start up living, eloquent images under 
the magic of his pen ; and these, by their simple and combined 
effects, give an air of originality even to subjects like the great 
truths of religion, few and simple as they are, where repetition 
is unavoidable and the range of illustration limited. This is 
the great charm of Jeremy Taylor's writings, wherein the ever- 
varying lines of fancy play like the corruscations of an aurora 
borealis, and on which imagination stamps the genuine impress 
of sublime genius. — Dr, Hughes, 

His style unfolds the colours of the rainbow ; floats like a 
bubble through the air ; or is like innumerable dewdrops that 
glitter on the face of morning and twinkle as they glitter. — Hazlitt, 

I can fathom the understandings of most men, yet I am not 
certain that I can always fathom the understanding of Jeremy 
Taylor. — Warburton. 

Richard Baxter. 
1615-1691. 

I asked him (Johnson) what works of Richard Baxter I should 
read. He said, Read any of them ; they are all good." — Boswell, 

A man of great piety, and if he had not meddled in too 
many things, would have been esteemed one of the learned 
men of the age. He writ near three hundred books ; of these 
three are large folio. He had a very moving and pathetical 
way of writing,^ and was his whole life long a man of great zeal 

1 Baxter has characterized his own writing : — The commonness and the 
greatness of men's necessities commanded me to do anything that I coukl 
for their reUef, and to bring forth some water to cast upon this fire, though 
I had not at hand a silver vessel to cany it in, nor thought it the most fit. 
The plainest words are the most profitable oratory in the weightiest matters. 
Fineness for ornament, and delicacy for delight ; but they answer not 
necessity, though sometimes they may modestly attend that which answers 
it."— Ed. 



RicJiard Baxter, 



77 



and much simplicity; but was most unhappily subtle and 
metaphysical in everything. — Bishop B timet 

A man famous for weakness of body, and strength of mind, 
for having the strongest sense of religion himself, and exciting 
a sense of it in the thoughtless and profligate ; for preaching 
more sermons, engaging in more controversies, and writing 
more books than any other nonconformist of his age. — 
Graftger, 

His practical writings were never mended ; his controversial 
seldom confuted. — Dr, Barrow. 

Eminent not only for his piety and his fervid devotional 
eloquence, but for his moderation, his knowledge of political 
affairs, and his skill in judging of characters. — Macatday. 

Read Baxter's funeral sermon, and some of the more serious 
passages of his life, and found them striking, and in some 
respects appropriate; but how sadly do I fall short of him, 
particularly where he speaks of his calumnious assailants ! 
Fifty books were written against him ; about twenty-three, I 
think, were written for and against me, besides three years* 
monthly attack from the Anti-Jacobin; but while Baxter 
blessed God that none of these things disturbed him, I have to 
lament that through my want of his faith and piety, they had 
nearly destroyed my life. In one thing only I had the advan- 
tage : I never replied to my calumniators. In this one thing 
his trial was less than mine — that his calumniators did not 
hinder him in the service of God by diminishing his estimation 
as a writer. — Haimah More, 

Launched into the ocean of speculative inquiry, without the 
anchorage of parental instruction and filial reverence, Baxter 
would have been drawn by his constitutional tendencies into 
that sceptical philosophy, through the long annals of which no 
single name is to be found to which the gratitude of mankind 
has been yielded, or is justly due. He had much in common 
with the most eminent doctors of that school — the animal frame 
characterized by sluggish appetites, languid passions, and great 
nervous energy ; the intellectual nature distinguished by sublety 
to seize distinctions more than by wit to detect analogies ; by 
the power to dive, instead of the faculty to soar ; by skill to 
analyze subjective truths, rather than by ability to combine 
them with each other, and with objective realities. But what 
was wanting in his sensitive, and deficient in his intellectual 
structure, was balanced and corrected by the spiritual elevation 



78 



Richard Baxter— Sir John DenJiam, 



of his mind. If not enamoured of the beautiful, nor con- 
versant with the ideal, nor able to grasp the comprehensive and 
the abstract, he enjoyed that clear mental vision which attends 
on moral purity, the rectitude of judgment which rewards the 
subjection of the will to the reason, the loftiness of thought 
awakened by habitual communion with the source of light, and 
the earnest stability of purpose inseparable from the predomi- 
nance of the social above the selfish affections. — Edin, Review^ 
^^39.. 

Richard ! Richard ! dost thou think here to poison the 
Court ! Richard, thou art an old fellow — an old knave ; thou 
hast written books enough to load a cart, every one as full of 
sedition, I might say treason, as an egg is full of meat. Hadst 
thou been whipped out of thy writing trade, forty years ago, it 
had been happy. — Lord Jeffries^ " CajupheWs Lives of the 
Chancellors r 

Sir John Denham. 
1615-1668. 

Denham and Waller improved our versification, and Dryden 
perfected it. — Prior. 

He is one of the writers that improved our taste, and 
advanced our language ; and Vv'hom therefore v»'e ought to read 
with gratitude, though, having done much, he left much to 
do. — Johnson. . 

Cooper's Hill" has met with universal applause, though its 
subject seems rather descriptive than instructing; but it is not 
the hill, the river, and the stag chase ; it is the good verse and 
the fine reflections so frequently interspersed, and as it were 
interwoven with the rest, that give it the value, and will make 
it, as was said of true wit, everlasting like the sun. — Pope, 

Then in came Denham, that limping old bard. 

Whose fame on the "Sophy" and " Cooper's Hill" stands, 

And brought many stationers who swore very hard 

That nothing sold better — except 'twere his lands. 

But x\pollo advised him to write something more 

To clear a suspicion which possess'd the Court — 

That " Cooper's Hill," so much bragg'd on before. 

Was writ by a vicar, who had forty pounds for't. — Dryden. 



Sir John Denham — Sir Roger V Estrange, 79 



His wit broke out like the Irish rebeUion, threescore 
thousand strong, when nobody was aware or in the least 
suspected it. — Waller. 

Sir John Denham in his " Cooper's Hill" (for none other of 
his poems merit attention) has a loftiness and vigour which had 
not before him been attained by any English poet who wrote 
in rhyme. The mechanical difficulties of that measure retarded 
its improvement. Shakspeare, whose tragic scenes are some- 
times wonderfully forcible and expressive, is a very in- 
different poet when he attempts to rhyme. — Htme} 

Sir Roger L' Estrange. 
1616-1704. 

Sir Roger L'Estrange, who appears to have greatly surpassed 
his rivals, and to have been esteemed as the most perfect 
model of political writing, merits little praise. The temper of 
the man was factious and brutal, and the compositions of the 
author very indifferent. In his multifarious productions and 
meagre translations, we discover nothing that indicates one 
amiable sentiment, to compensate for a barbarous diction, 
and a heavy load of political trash. His attempts at wit are 
clumsy exertions ; the awkward efforts of a German who labours 
on a delicate toy. When he assumes the gravity of the sage, 
he seems more fortunate in extorting a laugh ; burlesquing the 
most solemn reflections by quaint and uncouth expression. — 
/ nis7'aeli. 

The chief manager of all those angry writings vv^as one Sir 
.Roger L'Estrange, a man who had lived in all the late times, 
and was furnished with many passages and an unexhausted 
copiousness in writing ; so that for four years he pubHshed 
three or four sheets a wxek under the title of the " Observator," 
all tending to defame the contrary party, and to make the 
clergy apprehend their ruin was designed. — Burnet 

L'Estrange was by no means deficient in readiness and 
shrewdness, and his diction, though coarse and disfigured by a 



^ And yet of the "Midsummer Night's Dream, " the most poetical of 
Shakspeare's dramas, at least half is in rhyme, and that half includes some 
of the loveliest passages in the play. Such was the criticism of the 
eighteenth century ! — Ed. 



8o Sir Roger L Estrange— Abraham Coivley. 

mean and flippant jargon, which then passed for wit in the 
green-room and the tavern, was not without keenness and 
vigour. But his nature, at once ferocious and ignoble, showed 
itself in every line that he penned. When the first Observators" 
appeared there was some excuse for his acrimony, for the 
Whigs were then powerful, and he had to contend against 
numerous adversaries whose unscrupulous violence might seem 
to justify unsparing retaliation. But in 1685 all opposition had 
been crushed. A generous spirit would have disdained to 
insult a party which could not reply, and to aggravate the 
misery of prisoners, of exiles, of bereaved families ; but from 
the malice of L'Estrange the grave was no hiding place, and 
the house of mourning no sanctuary. — Macaulay, 

Abraham Cowley. 

1618-1667. 

To him no author was unknown, 
Yet what he wrote was all his own : 
He melted not the ancient gold, 
. Nor with Ben Jonson did make bold 
To plunder all the Roman stores 
Of poets and of orators. — Denham. 

To my bookseller's and did buy "Scott's Discourse of 
Witches;" and to hear Mr. Cowley mightily lamented (his 
death) by Dr. Ward, the Bishop of Winchester; and Dr. Bates, 
who were standing there, as the best poet of oiir nation, and as 
good a man. — Pepys. 

The truth is, sir, methinks in other matters his^ wit excelled 
most other men's, but in his moral and divine works it outdid 
itself And no doubt it proceeded from this cause, that in 
other lighter kinds of poetry he chiefly represented the 
humours and affections of others ; but in these he sat to himself, 
and drew the figure of his own mind. — Dr. Sprat} 



1 Of Sprat, Bishop of Rochester, Macaulay has left the following 
character : — *' He was a man to whose character posterity has scarcely done 
justice. Unhappily for his fame, it has been usual to print his verses in 
collections of the British poets ; and those who judge of him by his verses 
must consider him as a servile imitator, who, without one spark of Cowley's 
admirable genius, mimicked whatever was least commendable in Cowley's 



Abraham Cowley, 



8i 



In the general review of Cowley's poetry, it will be found 
■that he wrote with abundant fertiUty, but negligent or unskilful 
selection ; with much thought, but with Httle imagery ; that he 
is never pathetic and rarely sublime; but always either in- 
genious or learned, either acute or profound. — yoh?ison, 

Cowley was beloved by every muse that he courted. — Felfofi, 

O'errun with wit, and lavish of his thoughts ; 

His turns too closely on the reader press ; 

He had more pleas'd us had he pleas'd us less/ — Addiso?h 

His Pindaric odes cannot be perused with common patience 
by a lover of antiquity. — Wai^toii, 

[- Who now reads Cowley ? if he pleases, yet 

His moral pleases, not his pointed wit. 
Forgot his Epic, nay, Pindaric art, 

1 But still I love 'the language of his heart. — Pope, 

Cowley is an author extremely corrupted by the bad taste ot 
his age ; but, had he lived even in the purest times of Greece or 
Rome, he must always have been a very indifferent poet. He had 
no ear for harmony; and his verses are only known to be such 
by the rhyme which terminates them. In his rugged, untune- 
able numbers are conveyed sentiments the most strained and 
distorted; long-spun allegories, distant allusions, and forced 
conceits. Great ingenuity, however, and vigour of thought 
sometimes break, out amidst those unnatural conceptions. — 
Hume. 

To speak of this neglected writer as a poet. He had a quick and 
readyconception, the true enthusiasm of genius, and vast materials 
with which learliing as well as fancy had supplied him for 
it to work up£)n. He had besides a prodigious command of 
expression, had a natural and copious flow of eloquence on 
every occasion, and understood our language in all its force 
and energy,. *Yet betwixt the native exuberance of his wit, 



manner ; but those who are acquainted with Sprat's prose writings will 
form a very different estimate of his powers. He was indeed a great 
[ master of our language, and possessed at once the eloquence of the orator, 
; of the controversialist, and of the historian. His moral character might 
I have passed with little censure had he belonged to a less sacred profession ; 
i for the worst that can be said of him was that he was indolent, luxurious, 
\ and worldly." 

5 -^ Nothing can be more exquisitely ridiculous than this line. — Ed. 

G 



82 Abraham Cowley — John Evelyn, 



which hurried him frequently on conceits, and the epidemical 
contagion of that time, which possessed all writers with the 
love of points, of affected turns, and hard unnatural allusion, 
there are few of his poems which a man of just taste will read 
with admiration or even with pleasure. Some few there are 
and enough to save his name from oblivion, or rather to con- 
secrate it, with those of the master-spirits of this country, to 
immortality. I would chiefly mention " The Complaint," " The 
Hymn to Light," and the " Ode to the Royal Society." The first 
and last are of the Pindaric kind, and I think well deserve the 
character given them by Mr. Waller, of being better than 
his master's. . . . On the whole he is a remarkable instance of 
the hurt immoderate praise does to a poet. His prodigious 
wit made him exclusively admired in his own time ; but, being 
in a false taste, that admiration could not last ; and it is the 
humour of mankind to revenge themselves on a great writer 
who has engrossed more fame than he deserves, by denying 
him his due when his proper value comes to be discovered. — 
Bishop Hurd, 

John Evelyn. 
1620-1706. 

For my part I profess that I delight in a cheerful gaiety, 
affect and cultivate variety ; the universe itself were not beau- 
tiful to me without \\.— Evelyn, 

He knew that retirement in his own hands was industry and 
benefit to mankind ; but in those of others, laziness and in- 
utility. — Ho7'ace Walpole. 

I know no man that possesses more private happiness than 
you do in your garden, and yet no man who makes his happi- 
ness more publick by a free communication of the art and 
knowledge of it to others. All that I am able yet to do is only 
to recommend to mankind the search of that felicity which you 
instruct them how to find and to enjoy.- — Cowley, 

That model of a meritorious English gentleman. — Lucy Aiken. 

His " Diary," less captivating, less graphic, less exphcit than 
that of Pepys, is a perfect granary of many and various kinds 
of knowledge. The historian will resort to it for its truth — 
truth never hidden by even the strong party bias of the 
gnnalist. The philosopher will find curious hints ; the 



JoJm Evelyn, 



83 



antiquary precious records — each in his own pecuHar line. The 
morahst traces through all, and in all, the lofty, enduring 
practical faith of an enlightened soul. We, as women, can 
also say more. In his contributions to social literature Evelyn 
has done justice to the subject of dress. — Grace Wharton. 

An English gentleman of the highest order, with a character 
full of sweetness and spirit ; a patriot who kept his loyalty in 
the most dangerous times, and a Christian who preserved his 
integrity in the most immoral ; a scholar with rather a pedantic 
fondness for learned phrases and scraps of literature, but 
Avithal a philosopher who viewed every object with a desire 
to extract from it all the beauty and goodness it contained ; 
who (J^ighted to breathe in the sweet atmosphere of gardens 
and to recline under the sylvan shades with which he had 
adorned his country. — Dr, Hughes, 

By water to Deptford and there made a visit to Mr. Evelyn, 
who, among other things, showed me most excellent painting 
in little, in distemper, Indian incke, water-colours, graveing, 
and, above all, the old mezzo-tinto, and the manner of it, which 
is very pretty and good things done with it. He read to me 
also very much of his discourse, he hath been many years and now 
is about, about Gardenage, which is a most noble and pleasant 
piece. He read me part of a play or two of his own making, very 
good, but not as he conceits them, I think, to be. He showed 
me his Hortus Hyemalis, leaves laid up in a book of several 
plants kept dry, which preserve colour, however, and look very 
finely, better than an herball. In fine, a most excellent person 
he is, and must be allowed a little for a little conceitedness ; 
but he may well be so, being a man so much above others. — 
Samuel Pepys. 

It is to Evelyn that we owe a large proportion of our safest 
materials for a fair estimate of the personal character of 
Charles II. and his unhappy brother. Without his evidence 
we should be comparatively in the dark as to the most curious 
and important (though by no means the most dignified) 
chapter in our history, the Revolution of 1688. — Quarterly 
Ranew^ J 847. 



84 



Andrew Marvel. 
1620-1678. 

The liveliest droll of the age who writ in a burlesque strain, 
but with so peculiar and entertaining a conduct, that from the 
king down to the tradesman his books were read with great 
pleasure. — Burnet. 

Marvel's poems are full of wit or sentiment, as the vein may 
be which we hit upon. Sometimes, indeed, his Httle plots of 
Parnassus are laid out rather too much in the style of old 
English gardening, square and formal ; but they never fail in 
possessing something good. The heart of the poet was in 
everything he did, and there was not a purer or a firmer one in 
the world. — Edi72hurgh Review^ 1825. 

He was a most excellent preacher, who never broached what 
he had not brewed, but preached what he had pre-studied, in- 
somuch that he was wont to say, that he would cross the 
common proverb, which called Saturday the working day, and 
Monday the holiday of preachers. — Fuller. 

He was of middling stature, pretty strong set, roundish-faced, 
cherry-cheeked, hazel-eyed, brown-haired. In his conversation 
he was modest and of very few words. He was wont to say 
he would not drink high or freely with any one with whom he 
could not trust his life. — Aubrey. 

George Fox. 
1624-1690. 

He long wandered from place to place teaching his strange 
theology, shaking like an aspen leaf in his paroxysms of fanatical 
excitement, forcing his way into churches, which he nicknamed 
steeple-houses, interrupting prayers and sermons with clamour 
and scurriUty, and pestering rectors and justices with epistles 
much resembling burlesques of those sublime odes in which 
the Hebrew prophets foretold the calamities of Babylon and 
Tyre. He soon acquired great notoriety by these feats. His 
strange face, his strange chant, his immovable hat, and his 
leather breeches were known all over the country, and he 
boasts that, as soon as the rumour was heard, "The Man in 
Leather Breeches is Coming," terror seized hypocritical pro- 



George Fox, 



85 



fessors, and hireling priests made haste to get out of his way. 
He was repeatedly imprisoned and set in the stocks, sometimes 
justly, for disturbing the public worship of congregations, and 
sometimes unjustly, for merely talking nonsense. He soon 
gathered round him a body of disciples, some of whom went 
beyond him in absurdity. He has told us that one of his 
friends walked naked through Skipton declaring the truth, and 
that another was divinely moved to go naked during several 
years to market-places and to the houses of gentlemen and 
clergymen. Fox complains bitterly that these pious acts 
prompted by the Holy Spirit were requited by an untoward 
generation with hooting, pelting, coach whipping, and horse- 
whipping. But, though he applauded the zeal of the sufferers, 
he did not go quite to their lengths. He sometimes, indeed, 
was impelled to strip himself partially. Thus he pulled off his 
shoes and walked barefooted through Lichfield, crying "Woe to 
the bloody city But it does not appear that he ever thought 
it his duty to appear before the public without that decent gar- 
ment from which his popular appellation was derived. — MacaiUay, 
He was the son of a weaver, and was himself bound appren- 
tice to a shoemaker. Feeling a stronger impulse towards 
spiritual contemplations than^towards the mechanical profes- 
sion, he left his master and went about the country clothed in 
a leathern doublet, a dress which he long affected, as well for 
its singularity as its cheapness. That he might wean himself 
from sublunary objects, he broke off all connexion with his 
friends and family, and never dwelt a moment in one place, lest 
habit should beget new connexions, and depress the sublimity 
of his aerial meditations. He frequently wandered into the 
woods, and passed whole days in hollow trees, without company 
or any other amusement than his Bible. Having reached that 
pitch of perfection as to need no other book, he soon advanced 
to another state of spiritual progress, and began to pay less 
regard even to that divine composition itself. His own heart, 
he imagined, was full of the same inspiration which had guided 
the prophets and apostles themselves ; and by this inward light 
must every spiritual obscurity be cleared, by this living spirit 



1 ^' There is not a year, hardly a month, wherein some Quaker oir other is 
not going about our streets here in London, either naked or in some exotic 
figure, denouncing woes, judgments, plagues, fires, sword and famine." — 
*' The Snake in the Grass," 1690. 



86 



George Fox — Robert Boyle. 



must the dead letter be animated. When he had been suffi- 
ciently consecrated in his own imagination, he felt that the 
fumes of self-applause soon dissipate, if not continually supplied 
by the admiration of others ; and he began to seek proselytes. 
Proselytes were easily gained at a time when all men's affections 
were turned towards religion, and when the most extravagant 
modes of it were sure to be most popular. All the forms of 
ceremony, invented by pride and ostentation. Fox and his 
disciples, from a superior pride and ostentation, carefully 
rejected j even the ordinary rites of civility were shunned as 
the nourishment of carnal vanity and self-conceit.— ZT/zwd'. 

Robert Boyle. 
1627-1691. 

A gentleman of very noble birth, and more eminent for his 
liberality, learning, and virtue ; and of whom I would say much 
more, but that he still lives. — /. Walton. 

The name of Boyle is auspicious to literature. — Warton. 

An honourable person, whose piety I value more than his 
nobility and learning, though both be great. — Dr. Barloza, 

Walton's Life of Sa?iderson.'' 

A gentleman who was an honour to his country, and a more 
diligent as well as successful enquirer into the works of nature 
than any other our nation has ever produced. — Addison. 

He had the profoundest veneration for the great God of 
heaven and earth that I have ever observed in any person. — 
Burnet^ Sermons. 

He was looked upon by all v/ho knew him as a very perfect 
pattern. He was a very devout Christian ; humble and modest, 
almost to a fault ; of a most spotless and exemplary life in all 
respects. He was highly charitable, and was a mortified and 
self-denied man that delighted in nothing so much as doing 
good. — Burnet., Hist, of My Own Times I' 

The excellent Mr. Boyle was the person who seems to have 
been designed by nature to succeed to the labours and inquiries 
of that extraordinary genius I have just mentioned (Bacon). By 
innumerable experiments he, in a great measure, filled out 
those plans and outlines of science which his predecessor had 
sketched out. His life v/as spent in the pursuit of nature, 
through a great variety of forms and changes, and in the most 



Robert Boyle — Duke of Bttckingham. By 



rational as well as devout adoration of its Divine Author. — 
y^o/iu Hughes^ Spectator'^ 

Boyle improved the pneumatick engine invented by Otto 
Guericke, and was thereby enabled to make several new and 
curious experiments on the air, as well as on other bodies. 
His chemistry is much admired by those who are acquainted 
with that art. His hydrostatics contain a greater mixture of 
reasoning and invention, with experiment, than any other of 
his w^orks ; but his reasoning is still remote from that boldness 
and temerity which had led astray so many philosophers. Boyle 
was a great partisan of the mechanical philosophy : a theory 
which, by discovering some of the secrets of nature, and allow- 
ing us to imagine the rest, is so agreeable to the natural vanity 
and curiosity of men. — Hwiie. 

George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. 
1627-1688. 

For his person he was the glory of the age, and any court 
wherever he came. Of a most graceful and charming mien and 
behaviour ; a strong, tall, and active body, all which gave a 
lustre to the ornaments of his mind ; of an admirable wit and 
excellent judgment, and had all other quahties of a gentleman. 
— Brian Fairfax, 

The witty Duke of Buckingham was an extreme bad man. 
His duel with Lord Shrewsbury was concerted between him and 
Lady Shrewsbury. All that morning she was trembling for her 
gallant, and wishing the death of her husband ; and after his 
fall, 'tis said the Duke slept with her in his bloody shirt. — 
Lord Peterborough, 

A man so various that he seemed to be 
Not one, but all mankind's epitome. 
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, 
Was everything by starts, and nothing long. 
But in the course of one revolving moon. 
Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon. 
Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking. 
Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking. 

Dryde?i. 

He was extremely handsome, and still thought himself much 



88 George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. 



more so than he really was, although he had a great deal of 
discernment. Yet his vanity made him mistake some civilities 
as intended for his person, which were only bestowed on his 
wit and drollery. — Grammont 

A Duke of Bucks. — Is one that has studied the whole body 
of vice. His parts are disproportionate to the whole, and, like 
a monster, he has more of some and less of others than he 
should have. He has pulFd down all that fabric that Nature has 
raised in him, and built himself up again after a model of his 
own. . . . His appetite to his pleasures is diseased and crazy, 
like the pica in a woman that longs to eat that which was never 
made for food ; or a girl in the green sickness that eats chalk 
and mortar. Continual wine, music, and women put false value 
upon things, which by custom became habitual, and debauch 
his understanding, so that he retains no right notion nor sense 
of things. — Samuel Butle7\ 

I can recollect no performance of Buckingham that stamps 
him a tt:ue genius. His reputation was owing to his rank. — 
Warto7t, 

Talking of the comedy of the Rehearsal," Johnson said, " It 
has not wit enough to keep it sweet. ... It has not vitality 
enough to preserve it from putrefaction." — BoswelL 

The madness of vice appear'd in his person in very eminent 
instances, since at last he became contemptible and poor, 
sickly and sunk in his parts, as well as in all other respects, so 
that his conversation was as much avoided as ever it had been 
courted. — Bishop Bimiet. 

A person of a great deal of wit and ingenuity, and of excel- 
lent judgment. . . . His forward genius was improved by a 
liberal education and the conversation of the greatest persons 
of his time ; and all these cultivated and improved by study 
and travel. — Briscoe, 

The finest gentleman I ever saw. — Sir John Rereshy. 
The Rehearsal" is so perfect a masterpiece in its way, and 
so truly original, that, notwithstanding its prodigious success, 
even the task of imitation, which most kinds of excellence have 
invited inferior geniuses to undertake, has appeared too arduous 
to be attempted with regard to this, which through a whole 
century stands alone, notwithstanding that the very plays it was 
written expressly to ridicule are forgotten, and the taste it was 
meantto expose totally exploded. — Reed, Dramatic Biography 
The Duke of Buckingham possessed all the advantages which 



Duke of Buckingham — Sir William Temple, 89 

a graceful person, a high rank, a splendid fortune, and a lively 
wit could bestow ; but by his wild conduct, unrestrained either 
by prudence or principle, he found means to render himself in 
the end odious and even insignificant The least interest could 
make him abandon his honour ; the smallest pleasure could 
seduce him from his interest ; the most frivolous caprice was 
sufficient to counterbalance his pleasure. By his want of 
secrecy and constancy he destroyed his character in public 
life ; by his contempt of order and economy he dissipated his 
private fortune ; by riot and debauchery he ruined his health ; 
and he remained at last as incapable of doing hurt as he had 
ever been little desirous of doing good to mankind. — Hume, 

Sir William Temple. 

1628-1700. 

- Temple's style is the perfection of practical and easy good 
breeding. If he does not penetrate very deeply into a subject, 
he professes a very gentlemanly acquaintance with it; if he 
makes rather a parade of Latin, it was the custom of the day, 
as it was the custom for a gentleman to envelope his head in a 
periwig, and his hands in lace ruffles. — Thackeray, 

Sir William Temple was the first writer who gave cadence to 
EngHsh prose. Before his time they were careless of arrange- 
ment, and did not mind whether a sentence ended with an im- 
portant word or an insignificant word; or with what part of 
speech it was concluded, r— Johnson. 

He was a vain man, much blown up in his own conceit, 
which he showed too indecently on all occasions. He had a 
true judgment in affairs, and very good principles with relation 
to government, but in nothing else. He seemed to think that 
things were as they are from all eternity ; at least he thought 
religion was fit only for the mob. He was a great admirer of 
the sect of Confucius, in China. ... He was a corrupter of all 
that came near him. — Btmiei. 

He was no profound thinker. He was merely a man of 
lively parts and quick observation ; a man of the world among 
men of letters ; a man of letters among men of the world.— 
Macaulay, 

With him died all that was good and amiable among men. 

Simft, 



90 Sir William Temple — John Btmyan. 

To Temple's sincerity his subsequent conduct gives abun- 
dant testimony. When he had reason to think that his services 
could no longer be useful to his country, he withdrew wholly 
from public business, and resolutely adhered to the preference 
of philosophical retirement, w^hich, in his circumstances, was 
just, in spite of every temptation which occurred to bring him 
back to a more active scene. The remainder of his life he 
seems to have emxployed in the most noble contemplations, and 
the most elegant amusements ; every enjoyment heightened, 
no doubt, by reflecting on the honourable part he had acted in 
public affairs, and without any regret on his own account (what- 
ever he might feel for his country) at having been driven from 
them. — C. J, Fox. 

Of all the considerable writers of this age. Sir William Temple 
is almost the only one that kept himself altogether unpolluted 
by that inundation of vice and licentiousness which over- 
whelmed the nation. The style of this author, though extremely 
negligent, and even infected wdth foreign idioms, is agreeable 
and interesting. That mixture of vanity which appears in his 
works, is rather a recommendation to them. By means of it 
we enter into acquaintance wdth the character of the author, 
full of honour and humanity, and fancy that w^e are engaged, 
not in the perusal of a book, but in conversation with a com- 
panion. — Hume, 

John Bunyan. 
1628-1688. 

No man of common sense and integrity can deny that Bun- 
yan w^as a practical atheist, a worthless, contemptible infidel, a 
vile rebel to God and goodness, a common profligate, a soul- 
despising, a soul-murdering, a soul-damning, thoughtless wretch 
as could exist on the face of the earth. — Ryland. 

Though composed in the lov/est style of EngUsh, the Pil- 
grim's Progress " is without slang or false grammar. If you 
were to poUsh it you would at once destroy the reality of the 
vision. I would not have believed beforehand that Calvinism 
could be painted in such exquisitely delightful colours. I know 
of no book (the Bible being excepted as above all comparison) 
which, according to my judgment and experience, I could so 
safely recommend as teaching and enforcing the whole saving 



John Bimyan, 



91 



truth, according to the mind that was in Christ Jesus, as the 
Pilgrim's Progress." I am convinced that it is the best sum- 
mary of Evangehcal Christianity ever produced by a writer not 
miraculously inspired. — Coleridge, 

His "Pilgrim's Progress" has great merit, both for inven- 
tion, imagination, and the conduct of the story ; and it has had 
the best evidence of its merit, the general and continued 
approbation of mankind. Few books, I believe, have had a 
more extensive sale. It is remarkable that it begins very much 
like the poem of Dante \ yet there was no translation of Dante 
when Bunyan wrote. There is reason to think that he had 
read Spenser. — Johnso7i, 

The wicked tinker of Els tow. — Ivhney, 

The " Pilgrim's Progress " is perhaps the only book about 
which, after the lapse of a hundred years, the educated 
minority has come over to the opinion of the common people. 
' — Macaiday} 

Honest John was the first that I know of who mixed narra- 
tion and dialogue ; a method of writing very engaging to the 
reader, who, in the most interesting parts, finds himself, as it 
were, admitted into the company and present at the conversa- 
tion. Defoe has imitated him successfully in his " Robinson 
Crusoe," in his " Moll Flanders," and other pieces ; and 
Richardson has done the same in his "Pamela." — Benjamin 
Frankli7i. 

Bunyan's work is the poetry of Puritanism. A novel it can- 
not be called ) for it has nothing to do with real life any more 
than the visions of Fifth Monarchy men had to do with 
practical forms of government. But, precisely for that reason, 
was it true to the age in which it was composed. The spirit 
that had overthrown the Stuarts is more visible in Bunyan's 
allegory than in "Milton's Defence." — Edinburgh Review^ 1838. 

The Spenser of the people. — /. U Israeli, 

Bunyan was confident in his own powers of expression. . . . 
And he might well be confident in it. His is a homespun 
style, not a manfactured one j and what a difference is there 
between its homeliness, and the flippant vulgarity of the Roger 
L'Estrange and Tom Brown school ! If it is not a well of 



^ ''Bunyan," says Macaulay, in his ''History," "is indeed as decidedly 
the first of allegorists as Demosthenes is the first of orators, and Shak- 
speare the first of dramatists, " 



92 



John Bunyan — Bishop Tillotson, 



English undefiled to which the poet as well as the philologist 
must repair, if they would drink of the living waters, it is a 
clear stream of current English — the vernacular speech of his 
age; sometimes indeed, in its rusticity and coarseness, but 
always in its plainness and its strength. To this natural style 
Bunyan is in some degree beholden for his general popularity 3 
his language is eveiywhere level to the most ignorant reader, 
and to the meanest capacity ; there is a homely reality about 
it ; a nursery tale is not more intelligible in its manner of nar- 
ration, to a child. Another cause of his popularity is, that he 
taxes the imagination as little as the understanding. The 
vividness of his own, which, as his history shows, sometimes 
could not distinguish ideal impressions from actual ones, occa- 
sioned this. He saw the things of which he was writing as 
distinctly with his mind's eye as if they were, indeed, passing 
before him in a dream. — Robert Soiithey. 

The " Pilgrim's Progress " is a wonderful work ; but till all 
distinctions of rank have been first confused and then de- 
stroyed, John Bunyan must stand far aloof from Edmund 
Spencer, though he, too, has his place among the hierarchies. 
— Wilson, 



Bishop Tillotson. 
1630-1694. 

A man of a clear head and a sweet temper. He had the 
brightest thoughts and the most correct style of all our divines ; 
and was esteemed the best preacher of the age. He was a 
very prudent man, and had such a management of it, that I 
never knew any clergyman so universally esteemed and beloved 
as he was for above 20 years. He was eminent for his oppo- 
sition to Popery ; he was no friend to persecution, and stood 
up much against atheism. Nor did any man contribute more 
to bring the city to love our worship than he did. But there 
was so little superstition, and so much reason and gentleness 
in his way of explaining things, that malice was long levelled at 
him, and in conclusion broke out fiercely on him. — Burnet 

He (Johnson) could but just endure the smooth verbosity of 
Tillotson. — Sir yohn Hawkins, 

I should not advise a preacher of this day to imitate 
Tillotson's style ; though I don't know ; I should be cautious of 



Bishop Tillotson, 



93 



objecting to what has been applauded by so many suffrages. — 
Johnson. 

This prelate was, perhaps, the first of our great preachers 
whose diction was sufficiently free from Latinisms and scholastic 
terms to serve as a general model ; and so pure was his taste 
that even now the learner in the art of composition could 
scarcely draw from a better or more authentic source than his 
" well of English undefiled." — Lucy Aikin, 

Tillotson, Moore, Patrick, Kidder, Fowler and Cumberland,^ 
names that will ever be pronounced with veneration by such 
as are capable of esteeming solid, well-employed learning and 
genuine piety, and that will always shine among the brightest 
ornaments of the Church of England. — Dr, Madame, 

I have frequently heard him (Dryden) own with pleasure 
that if he had any talent for Enghsh prose, it was owing to his 
often having read the writings of the great Archbishop Tillotson. 
—Coftgreve, 

Of all the members of the Low Church party, Tillotson stood 
highest in general estimation. As a preacher, he was thought, 
by his contemporaries, to have surpassed all rivals, living or 
dead. Posterity has reversed this judgment. Yet Tillotson 
still keeps his place as a legitimate English classic. His highest 
flights were indeed far below those of Taylor, of Barrow, of 
South ; but his oratory was more correct and equable than 
theirs. No quaint conceits, no pedantic quotations from 
Talmudists and Scholiasts, no mean images, buffoon stories, 
scurrilous invectives, ever marred the effect of his grave and 
temperate discourses. His reasoning was just sufficiently pro- 
found and sufficiently refined to be followed by a popular 
audience with that slight degree of intellectual exertion which 
is a pleasure. His style is not brilliant, but it is pure, trans- 
parently clear, and equally free from the levity and from the 
stiffness which disfigure the sermons of some eminent divines 



. . ^ Of such writers, Macaulay finely says, they were *'men familiar with 
all ancient and modem learning ; men able to encounter Hobbes or Bossuet 
at all the weapons of controversy ; men who could in their sermons set 
forth the majesty and beauty of Christianity, with such justness of thought 
and such energy of language, that the indolent Charles roused himself to 
listen, and the fastidious Buckingham forgot to sneer ; men whose address, 
politeness, and knowledge of the world qualified them to manage the con- 
sciences of the wealthy and the noble ; men with whom Halifax loved to 
discuss the interests of the empire, and from whom Dryden was not ashamed 
to own that he learned to write." — Ed. 



94 



Bishop Tillotson — Isaack Barrow, 



of the seventeenth century. He is ahvays serious ; yet there is 
about his manner a certain graceful ease, which marks him as 
a man who knows the world, who has lived in populous cities, 
and in splendid courts, and who has conversed not only with 
books, but with lawyers and merchants, wits and beauties, 
statesmen and princes. The greatest charm of his compositions, 
however, is derived from the benignity and candour which 
appear in every line, and which shone forth not less con- 
spicuously in his hfe than in his writings. — Macaulay, 

Isaack Barrow. 
1630-1677. 

He was not a fair man — he left nothing to be said by any- 
one who came after him.- — Chai'les IL 

The sermons of Barrow, and his " Treatise on the Pope's 
Supremacy," include the whole domain of theology and morals. 
There is scarcely a question which is not exhausted and, by 
his inimitable copiousness of language, placed in every point 
of view, and examined with the most conscientious accuracy. — 
Quarterly Review. 

I mentioned that Mr. Fox always spoke of Barrow with 
enthusiasm, and that, upon the strength of this opinion, I bought 
his sermons, but found him insufferably dry ; at least as far as 
I read, which was not very far. It is certain, however, I believe, 
that besides containing the amplest stores of theological learn- 
ing, he has also bursts of eloquence, which though not so 
poetical as Jeremy Taylor's, are, from their variety and force, far 
more striking. — Thomas Moore. 

In him one admires more the prodigious fecundity of his 
invention, and the uncommon strength of his conceptions, than 
the feUcity of his execution or his talent in composition. We 
see a genius far surpassing the common, pecuUar indeed almost 
to himself ; but that genius often shooting wild, and unchastised 
by any discipline or study of eloquence. On every subject he 
multiphes words with an overflowing copiousness, but it is 
always a torrent of strong ideas and significant expressions 
which he pours forth.— Z>r. Blair. 

Justification by faith. On this subject I know of nothing so 
precise and accurate (though numberless and vast volumes have 
be^n written upon it from the Reformation downwards), as 



Isaack Barrow — John Dry den. 



95 



what is contained in Dr. Barrow's Discourses on Faith." His 
notion on the whole is that Justification, as used by the sacred 
writers, and St. Paul in particular, means remission of sins, and 
admission into a state of favour with God, as if we were 
righteous, and not the infusion of inherent holiness by the 
Spirit ; that this justification was primarily made on our entrance 
into the Christian covenant by baptism, and is afterwards 
received and regranted, as it were, on our repentance and 
return from such transgressions as we may have fallen into 
after baptism. — I?r. Hiird. 

John Dryden. 
1631-1700. 

You do live in as much ignorance and darkness as you did 
in the womb ; your writings are like a Jack-of-all-trade's shop ; 
they have a variety, but -nothing of value ; and if thou art not 
the dullest plant animal that ever the earth produced, all that I 
have conversed with are strangely, mistaken in thee. — Martin 
Cliff-ord. 

He was of a nature exceedingly humane and compassionate, 
ready to forgive injuries, and capable of a sincere reconcihation 
with those who had offended him. His friendship, w^here he 
profess'd it, went beyond his profession. . . . He was of a 
very easy, of a very pleasing access ; but somewhat slow and, 
as it were, diffident in his advances to others ; he had that in 
nature which abhorred intrusion. — Congrtve. 

A monster of immodesty and of impurity of all sorts. — 
Bishop Bitrnet. 

My conversation is slow and dull, my humour saturnine and 
unreserved. In short, I am none of those who break jests in 
company, and make repartees. — Dryden. 

He is a rarity which I cannot but be fond of, as one would 
be of a hog that could fiddle or a singing owl. — Rochester. 

And so much for Mr. Dr3^den, whose burial was the same as 
his life — variety and not of a piece : — the quality and mob ; 
farce and heroics ; the sublime and ridiculous mixed in a piece j 
great Cleopatra in a hackney-coach. — Farqiihar. 

The morahty of his life — the practical test of his heart and his 
understanding — was unimpeachable. — Rohe^^t Bell. 

Of Dryden's works it was said by Pope that he could 



96 



John Dryden, 



select from them better specimens of every mode of poetry 
than any other EngHsh writer could supply." Perhaps no 
nation ever produced a writer that enriched his language with 
such a variety of models. To him we owe the improvement, 
perhaps the completion of our metre, the refinement of our 
language, and much of the correctness of our sentiments. By 
him we were taught sapere et fari^ to think naturally and 
express forcibly. — yohnson. 

The power of music all our hearts allow, 

And what Timotheus was is Dryden now. — Pope, 

Mr. St. John, afterwards Lord Bolingbroke, happening to pay 
a morning visit to Dryden, whom he always respected, found 
him in an unusual agitation of spirits, even to a trembling. On 
inquiring the cause I have been up all night," replied the old 
bard ; " my musical friends made me a promise to write them 
an ode for the feast of St. Cecilia ; I have been so struck with 
the subject which occurr'd to me, that I could not leave it till 
I had completed it \ here it is, finished at one sitting." — Warton, 

I was about 1 7 when I first came up to town, an odd-looking 
boy, with short rough hair, and that sort of awkwardness which 
one always brings up at first out of the country with one. How- 
ever, in spite of my bashfulness and appearance, I used, now 
and then, to thrust myself into Will's, to have the pleasure of 
seeing the most celebrated wits of that time, who then resorted 
thither. The second time that ever I was there, Mr. Dryden 
was speaking of his own things, as he frequently did, especially 
of such as had lately been pubUshed. If anything of mine 
is good," says he, " 'tis ^ Macflecnoe' ; and I value myself the 
more upon it, because it is the first piece of ridicule written in 
heroics." On hearing this I pluck'd up my spirits, so far as to 
say in a voice just loud enough to be heard, " That ' Mac- 
flecnoe' was a very fine poem, but that I had not imagined it 
to be the first that was ever written that way." On this Dryden 
turned short upon me, as surpris'd at my interposing ; asked 
me how long I had been a dealer in poetry ;" and added, 
with a smile, " Pray, sir, what is it that you did imagine to 
have been writ so before?" I named Boileau's ^^Lutrin," 
and Tassoni's '^Secchia Rapita" which I had read, and knew 
Dryden had borrow'd some strokes from each. 'Tis true," 
said Dryden, " I had forgot them." A little time Dryden went 
out, and on going spoke to me again and desired me to come 



John Dryden. 



97 



and see him the next day. I was highly deHghted with the invi- 
tation, went to see him accordingly, and was well acquainted 
with him after, as long as he lived. — Dean Lockier. 

Dryden comes into a room like a clown, in a drugget jacket, 
with a bludgeon in his hand, and in hobnail shoes. Pope 
enters like a gentleman, in full dress, with a bag and a sword. — 
Dr, Walcot} 

What a sycophant to the public taste was Dryden ! Sinning 
against his feelings, lewd in his writings, though chaste in his 
conversation. — Cowper. 

I admire his talents and genius greatly, but his is not 
a poetical genius. The only quaHties I can find in Dryden 
that are essentially poetical, are a certain ardour and impetu- 
osity of mind, with an excellent ear. It may seem strange 
that I do not add to this his great command of language ; 
that he certainly has, and of such language too, as it is most 
desirable that a poet should possess, or rather that he should 
not be without. But it is not language that is, in the highest 
sense of the word, poetical, being neither of the imagination 
nor the passions ; I mean the amiable, the ennobling, or the 
intense passions. I do not mean to say that there is nothing 
of this in Dryden, but as little I think as is possible, con- 
sidering how much he has written. — Wordsworth. 

Dryden was a poet by nature. Pope by art. — H. Walpole. 

While Dryden examined, discussed, admitted, or rejected the 
rules proposed by others, he forbore from prudence, indolence, 
or a regard for the freedom of Parnassus to erect himself into a 
legislator. His doctrines are scattered without system or pre- 
tence to it : it is impossible to read far without discovering 
some maxim for doing or forbearing which every student of 
poetry will do well to engrave upon the tablets of his memory ; 
but the author's mode of instruction is neither harsh nor 
dictatorial. — Sir JV. Scott. 

As a satirist he has rivalled Juvenal. As a didactic poet he 
might perhaps with care and meditation have rivalled Lucretius. 
Of lyric poets he is, if not the most sublime, the most brilliant 
and spirit-stirring. But nature, profuse to him of many rare 



^ Walcot Avoiild allow Dryden no merit. He contested Pope's infinite 
superiority poem by poem. ''But, Doctor," said his opponent, " what of 
* Alexander's Feast?"' — "Pooh!" exclaimed Walcot, "he was drunk 
when he wrote that." — Ed. 

H 



98 



yohn Dry den. 



gifts J had denied to him the dramatic faculty. Nevertheless 
all the energies of his best years were wasted on dramatic com- 
position. He had too much judgment not to be aware that in 
the power of exhibiting character by means of dialogue he was 
deficient. That deficiency he did his best to conceal, some- 
times by surprising and amusing incidents, sometimes by stately 
declamation, sometimes by harmonious numbers, sometimes by 
ribaldry but too well suited to the taste of a profane and 
licentious pit ; but he never obtained any theatrical success 
equal to that which rewarded the exertions of some men far 
inferior to him in general powers. He thought himself fortunate 
if he cleared a hundred guineas by a play. — Macaiday. 

Dryden's genius was of that sort which catches fire by its 
own motion : his chariot wheels get hot by driving fast— 
Coleridge, 

All his natural and all his acquired powers fitted him to 
found a good critical school of poetry. Indeed, he carried his 
reforms too far for his age. After his death our literature re- 
trograded ; and a century was necessary to bring it back to the 
point at which he left it. The general soundness and health- 
fulness of his mental constitution, his information of vast 
superficies, though of small volume, his wit, scarcely inferior to 
that of the most distinguished followers of Donne, his eloquence, 
grave, deliberate, and commanding, could not save him from 
disgraceful failure as a rival of Shakspeare, but raised him far 
above the level of Boileau. His command of language was 
immense. With him died the secret of the old poetical diction 
of England — the art of producing rich efi'ect by familiar words. 
In the following century it was as completely lost as the Gothic 
method of painting glass, and was but poorly suppUed by the 
laborious and tessellated imitations of Mason and Gray. — 
Edinburgh Review^ 1828. 

His plays, excepting a few scenes, -are utterly disfigured by 
vice, or folly, or both. His translations appear too much the 
offspring of haste and hunger ; even his fables are ill-chosen 
tales, conveyed in an incorrect, though spirited versification. 
Yet amidst this great number of loose productions, the refuse 
of our language, there are found some small pieces, his Ode 
to St. Cecilia," the greater part of" Absalom and Achitophel," 
and a few more, which discover so great genius, such richness 
of expression, such pomp and vanity of numbers, that they 
leave us equally full of regret and indignation on account of 



John Dryden~John Locke. 99 



the inferiority, or rather, great absurdity, of his other writings. — = 
Htme. 

But see where artful Dryden next appears, 

Grown old in rhyme, but charming even in years ; 

Great Dryden next, whose tuneful muse affords 

The sweetest numbers and the fittest words. 

Whether in comic sounds or tragic airs 

She forms her voice, she moves our smiles or tears ; 

If satire or heroic strains she writes 

Her hero pleases and her satire bites ; 

From her no harsh, unartful numbers fall, 

She wears all dresses, and she charms in all. 

Addison} 

John Locke. 
1632-1704. 

Locke approaches the most awful speculations with the same 
indifference as if he were about to handle the properties of 
triangles. — yames Hogg {Ettrick Shepherd). 

His writings have diffused throughout the civilized world 
the love of civil liberty — the spirit of toleration and charity in 
religious differences — the disposition to reject whatever is 
obscure, fantastic or hypothetical in speculation — to reduce 
verbal disputes to their proper value — to abandon problems 
which admit of no solution — to distrust whatever cannot be 
clearly expressed — to render theory the simple expression of 
facts— and to prefer those studies which most directly con- 
tribute to human happiness. — Edinburgh Review, 1821. 

The most elegant of prose writers. — W, S. .Landor, 

There is not in the world such a master of taciturnity and 
passion. — Dr. Fell. 

In his language Locke is of all philosophers the most 
figurative, ambiguous, vacillating, various, and even contra- 
dictory. .... The opinions of such a writer are not, 

1 From An Account of the Greatest English Poets," from which Shak- 
speare's name is omitted, to say nothing of the names of Jonson, 'Beau- 
mont, Fletcher, Massinger, Marlowe, Webster, &c. Than these 'rhymes 
(poetry they are not) a hundred volumes could not give one a better idea of 
tlie taste of the times. — Ep, 

H 2 



100 



John Locke — Samuel Pepys. 



therefore, to be assumed from isolated and casual expressions 
which themselves require to be interpreted on the general 
analogy of his system. — Sir W. Haniiltoji. 

The affectation of passing for an original thinker glares 
strongly and ridiculously in Mr. Locke. Who sees not that 
a great part of his Essay on Man" is taken from Hobbes ; and 
almost everything in his " Letters on Toleration" from Bayle ? 
Yet he nowhere makes the least acknowledgment of his obli- 
gations to either of those writers. They were both of them 
indeed writers of ill-fame. But was that a reason for his 
taking no notice of them? He might have distinguished 
between their good and ill deserts.— Z>r. Hurd. 

To be conversant with the readings of such a man cannot 
fail at once to invigorate and purify the understanding. It 
requires some acuteness and much attention to perceive all the 
links of his ratiocination, to follow them, when, by their own 
weight, as it were, they sink to the lowest depths of meta- ^ 
physics, and, rising again, stretch in one unbroken chain nearly 
across the whole domain of philosophy. But if we be disposed 
to lend him the requisite attention, it is always possible to 
discern the subtlest evolutions of his reasonings, to discover 
precisely whither they lead, and by what motives they are 
thitherward directed.—/! A, St. yohn. 

Samuel Pepys. 
1632-1703. 

A vain, silly, transparent coxcomb, without either solid 
talents or solid virtues. — Lockhart. 

A man of an essentially vulgar and coarse stamp. — Quarterly 
Review^ 1847. 

The variety of Pepys' tastes and pursuits led him into almost 
every department of life. He was a man of business, a man 
of information, if not of learning ; a man of taste ; a man of 
whim \ and, to a certain degree, a man of pleasure. He was a 
statesman, a bel-esprit, a virtuoso, and a connoisseur. His 
curiosity made him an unwearied as well as a universal learner, 
and whatever he saw found its way into his tables. Thus his 
''Diary" absolutely resembles the genial cauldrons at the wed- 
ding of Camacho, a souse into which was sure to bring forth at 



Samuel Pepys, 



101 



once abundance and variety of whatever could gratify the most 
eccentric appetite. — Sir W. Scott 

\ His " Journal" contains the most unquestionable evidences of 
veracity ; and as the writer made no scruple of committing his 
most secret thoughts to paper, encouraged no doubt by the 
confidence which he derived from the use of shorthand, 
perhaps there never was a publication more implicitly to be 
rehed upon for the authenticity of its statements and the 
I exactness with which every fact is detailed. — Lord Braybrooke, 
! It may be affirmed of this gentleman that he was, without 
I exception, the greatest and most useful minister that ever filled 
\ the same situations in England : the Acts and Registers of 
I the Admiralty proving this fact beyond contradiction. The 
principal rules and establishments in present use in those 
offices are well known to have been of his introducing, and 
most of the officers serving therein, since the Restoration, of 
his bringing up. He was a most studious promoter and 
strenuous assertor of order and discipline through all their 
dependencies. . . . He was a person of universal worth, and in 
great estimation among the literati, for his unbounded reading, 
his sound judgment, his great elocution, his mastery in method, 
his singular curiosity, and his uncommon munificence towards 
the advancement of learning, arts and industry in all 
degrees : to which were subjoined the severest morality of a 
philosopher, and all the pohte accomphshments of a gentle- 
man, particularly those of music, languages, conversation, and 
address. — Collier's Dictionajy. 

He seems to have been possessed of the most extraordinary 
activity, and the most indiscriminating, insatiable, and miscel- 
laneous curiosity that ever prompted the researches or supplied 
the pen of a daily chronicler. Although excessively busy and 
diligent in his attendance at his office he finds time to go to 
every play, to every execution, to every procession, fire, con- 
cert, riot, trial, review, city feast, public dissection, or picture 
gallery, that he can hear of Nay, there seems scarcely to 
have been a school-examination, a wedding, a christening, 
charity-sermon, bull-baiting, philosophical meeting, or private 
merry-making in his neighbourhood at which he was not sure 
to make his appearance and mindful to record all the par- 
ticulars. He is the first to hear all the court scandal and all 
the public news — to observe the changes of fashion and the 
downfall of parties — to pick up family gossip and to retail 



102 Samuel Pepys — Earl of Roscommoiu 



philosophical intelligence — to criticise every new house or 
carriage that is built — every new book or beauty that appears — 
every measure the king adopts, and every mistress he discards. 
■ — Edinburgh Review^ 1S25. 

The avid vanity of Mr. Pepys would be gratified if made 
aware of the success of his Diary;" but curiously to inquire 
into the reason of that success, why his Diary" has been found 
so amusing, v/ould not conduce to his comfort — A. Smith. 

Earl of Roscommon. 
1633-1684. 

Roscommon was more learned than Buckingham. He had 
laid a design of forming a society for the refining and fixing the 
standard of our language ; in v/hich project his intimate friend 
Dryden was a principal assistant. It may be remarked, to the 
praise of Roscommon, that he was the first critic who had taste 
and spirit enough publicly to praise the ^' Paradise Lost." — 
Warton. 

His imagination might have probably been more fruitful and 
sprightly if his judgment had been less severe ; but that 
severity, delivered in a masculine, clear, succinct style, con- 
tributed to make him so eminent in the didactical manner, 
that no man can with justice affirm he was ever equalled by 
any of our own nation, without confessing at the same time 
that he is inferior to none. — Fenton, 

In all Charles's days 
Roscommon only boasts unspotted lays. — Pope. 

He is the only correct writer in verse before Addison. — 
Johnson. 

It was my Lord Roscommon's Essay on Translated 
Verse which made me uneasy till I tried whether or no I was 
capable of following his rules, and of reducing the speculation 
into practice. — Dryden, 

Sir Charles Sedley. 
1639-1701. 

One of the most brilliant and profligate wits of the Restora- 
tion. The licentiousness of his writings is not redeemed by 



I Sir Charles Sedley — Tlioinas SliadzvelL 103 
much grace or vivacity ; but the charms of his conversation 
- were acknowledged even by sober men who had no esteem for 
his character. To sit near him at the theatre, and to hear 
his criticisms on a new play, was regarded as a privilege. Dry- 
ie den had done him the honour to make him a principal inter- 
re locutor in the dialogue on dramatic ^o^\xy—Macaida}K 
i Pierce do tell me among other news the late frolick and debau- 
chery of Sir Charles Sedley^ and Buckhurst running up and 
down all the night, almost naked through the streets ; and at last 
fighting and being beat by the Vv^atch and clapped up all night, 
and how the king takes their part ; and my Lord Chief Justice 
Keeling hath laid the constable by the heels to answer it next 
1 session, which is a horrid shame.^ — Pepys, 



Thomas ShadwelL 
1640-1692. 

I do not pretend to determine how great a poet Shadwell 
may be, but I am sure he is an honest man. — Earl of Dorset, 

If Shadwell had burnt all he wrote, and printed all he spoke, 
he would have had more wit and humour than any other 
poet. — Earl of Rochester. 

Now stop your noses, readers, all and some, 
For here's a tun of midnight work to come : 
Og, from a treason-tavern rolling home. 
Round as a globe and iiquor'd every chink, 
Goodly and great he sails behind his link : 
With all this bulk there's nothing lost in Og, 
For every inch that is not fool is rogue : 
A monstrous mass of foul corrupted matter, 
As all the devils had spued to make the batter. 
When wine has given him courage to blaspheme 
He curses God : but God before cursed him. 



1 Of Farquhar, another dramatist of the Restoration, Horace Walpole 
says : ' ' Farquhar's plays talk the language of a marching regiment in 
country quarters." Johnson; "I think Farquhar a man whose writings 
have considerable merit." Pope : " What pert lo\v dialogue has Farquhar 
writ !" James Prior : " His genius for comedy was not excelled % either 
Congreve or Sheridan." • And Lord Lytton : " Farquhar is the Fielding of 
the drama." 



104 Thomas Shadwell— William Wycherley. 

And if man could have reason, none has more 

That made his paunch so rich, and him so poor. 

With wealth he was not trusted, for heaven knew 

What 'twas of old to pamper up a Jew ; 

To what would he on quail and pheasant swell, 

That e'en on tripe and carrion could rebel ? 

But though heaven made him poor, with rev'rence speaking, 

He never was a poet of God's making. 

The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull. 

With this prophetic blessing — Be thou dull ! — Dry den? 

He was an accomplished observer of human nature, had a 
ready power of seizing the ridiculous in the manners of the 
times, was a man of sense and information, and displayed in 
his writings a very considerable fund of humour. — Sir Egerton 
Brydges^ Retrospective Revieuf^ 



William Wycherley. 
1640-1715. 

Translated into real life the characters of ... . Wycherley's 
dramas are profligates and strumpets — the business of their 
brief existence the undivided pursuit of lawless gallantry. No 
other spring of action, or possible motive of conduct, is 
recognised ; principles which, universally acted upon, must 
reduce this frame of things to a chaos. But we do them wrong 
in so translating them. No such effects are produced in their 
world. When we are among them, we are amongst a chaotic 
people. We are not to judge them by our usages. No 
reverend institutions are insulted by their proceedings, for they 
have none among them. No peace of families is violated, 
for no family ties exist among them. No purity of the marriage 
bed is stained, for none is supposed to have a being. No 
deep affections are disquieted — no holy wedlock-bands are 
snapped asunder ; for affection's depth and wadded faith are 
not of the growth of that soil. There is neither right nor 
wrong — gratitude or its opposite — claim or duty — paternity or 
son-ship. Of what consequence is it to virtue, or how is she 
at all concerned about it, whether Sir Simeon or Dapperwit 



^ Shadwell is also the hero of " Macflecnoe." — Ed. 



William Wycherley, 



steal away Miss Martha ; or who is the father of Lord Froth's 
or Sir Paul Pliant's children ? — Lamb. 

Wycherley's indecency is protected against the critics as a 
skunk is protected against the hunters. It is safe, because it 
is too filthy to handle, and too noisome even to approach. — 
Macaulay, 

Thou, whom the Nine with Plautus' wit inspire, 
The art of Terence, and Menander's fire \ 
Whose sense instructs us, and whose humour charms, 
Whose judgment sways us, and whose spirit warms ! 
Oh ! skill'd in nature \—Pope} 

Of all our modern wits, none seem to me 
Once to have touch'd upon true comedy. 
But hasty Shadwell and slow Wycherley. — Rochester. 

Wycherley earns hard whatever he gains. — Ibid. 

The satire, wit and strength of manly Wycherley. — Dry den. 

The very riiismgs of Wycherley 's plays have a raciness in 
them that is indestructible. — T. Moore. 

In Mr. Wycherley everything is masculine : his muse is not 
led forth as to a review, but as to a battle ; not adorned for 
parade, but for execution ; he would be tried by the sharpness 
of his blade and not by the finery ; like your hero of antiquity, 
he charges his iron and seems to despise all ornament but 
intrinsic merit ; and like those heroes, has therefore added 
another name to his own, and by the unanimous consent of his 
contemporaries is distinguished by the just appellation of Manly 
Wycherley. — Lord La7isdowne. 



^ At this time began his acquaintance with Wycherley, a man who seems 
to have had among his contemporaries his full share of reputation, to have 
been esteemed without virtue, and caressed without good nature. Pope 
was proud of his notice. Wycherley wrote verses in his praise, which he 
was charged by Dennis with writing to himself, and they agreed for awhile 
to flatter one another. It is pleasant to remark how soon Pope learnt the 
cant of an author, and began to treat critics with contempt, though he had 
yet suffered nothing from them. But the fondness of Wycherley was too 
violent to last. His esteem of Pope was such that he submitted some 
poems to his revision ; and when Pope, perhaps proud of such confidence, 
was suffiiciently bold in his criticisms and liberal in his alterations, the old 
scribbler was angry to see his pages defaced, and felt more pain from the 
detection than content from the amendment of his faults. They parted ; 
but Pope always considered him with kindness; and visited him a little 
before he died. — yoJmson^s Life of Pope, 



io6 William Wychertey — Dr. VVilliam Sherlock. 

Wyclierley was ambitious of the reputation of wit and 
libertinism ; and he attained it ; he was probably capable of 
reaching the fame of true comedy and instructive ridicule. — 
Hume, 

AVycherley, Dryden, Mrs. Centlivre, &c., wrote as if they had 
only lived in the " Rose Tavern but then the Court lived in 
Drury Lane too ; and Lady Dorchester and Nell Gwynne were 
equally good company. — Horace Waipole. 

Wycherley had such a bad memory that the same chain of 
thoughts would return to his mind at the distance of two or 
three years, without his rem.embering that it had been there 
before. Thus, perhaps, he would write one year an encomium 
on avarice, and a year or two after in dispraise of liberality \ 
and in both the words only would differ, but the thoughts be 
as much alike as two medals of different metals out of the same 
mould. It is to the credit of James 11. that he was so much 
pleased with Wycherley's comedy of the " Plain Dealer," that 
he released him from prison, where he had been confined seven 
years, by paying his debts, and settled on him a pension of 
200/. a year. — Pe^-cy Anecdotes T 

Dr. William Sherlock. 
i64i=-i7o7. 

Sherlock was a wretched fellow — a genuine son of the. 
Church — a Vicar of Bray— a trimmer and time-server, like 
Bishop Sprat, though not quite so barefaced ; a thick-and-thin 
advocate of the jure diviiw as existing in that miserable man 
James IL, and after a little coquetry, a mean and slavish ad- 
herent of William III. ; and all for preferment — in other words, 
money and power. He would have submitted to circumcision 
and turned Mahomedan had the faith of the prophet suddenly 
taken root in England and superseded the Chrisdan — Charles 
Oilier, " Hu7ifs Correspondence^ 

He was not of the first rank among his contemporaries as a 
scholar, as a preacher, as a writer on theology, or as a wTiter 
on poUdcs ; but in all the four characters he had distinguished 
himself. The perspicuity and liveliness of his style have been 
praised by Prior and Addison. The facihty and assiduity with 
which he wrote are sufficiently proved by the bulk and the 
dates of his works. There were^ indeed, among the clergy, 



Dr. William Sherlock — Sir Isaac Nezv ton. 107 

men of brighter genius, and men of wider attainments ; but 
during a long period there was none who more completely 
represented the order, none who, on all subjects, spoke more 
precisely the sense of the Anglican priesthood, without any taint 
of Latitudinarianism, of Puritanism, or of Popery. He had in the 
days of the Exclusion Bill, when the power of the Dissenters was 
very great in Parliament and in the country, written strongly against 
the sin of Nonconformity. When the Rye House Plot was 
detected, he had zealously defended by tongue and pen the 
doctrine of non-resistance. His services to the cause of epis- 
copacy and monarchy were so highly valued that he was made 
Master of the Temple. A pension was also bestowed on him 
by Charles ; but that pension James soon took away ; for Sher- 
lock, though he held himself bound to pay passive obedience 
to the civil power, held himself equally bound to combat 
religious errors, and was the keenest and most laborious of 
that host of controversialists who, in the day of peril, manfully 
defended the Protestant faith. — Macaiilay. 

When Sherlock was promoted to the Mastership of the 
Temple, he was only in the 26th year of his age. So early an 
elevation gave some offence ; yet it took place at a time when 
preferments were not lightly bestowed \ and Mr. Sherlock in a 
short time exhibited such talents as removed all prejudices 
against him. He exerted the utmost diligence in the cultiva- 
tion of his talents, and the display of his learning and eloquence; 
and in the course of a few years became one of the most cele- 
brated preachers of the time. Notwithstanding some degree of 
natural impediment (what is called a thickness of speech) he 
delivered his sermons with such propriety and energy as to 
rivet the attention of his hearers, and command their admira- 
tion. — Percy Anecdotes'' 

Sir Isaac Newton. 
1642--1727, 

In the whole of his air and face there was nothing of that 
penetrating sagacity which appears in his compositions j he had 
something rather languid in his look and manner, which did 
not raise any great expectation in those who did not know him. 
— A tier bury. 

He was a man of no very promising aspect. ... He spoke 



io8 



Sir Isaac Newton, 



little in company, so that his conversation was not agreeable.— 
Hearfie. 

Newton is a nice man to deal with, and a little too apt to 
raise in himself suspicions where there is no ground. — Locke, 

A monument to Newton ! a monument to Shakspeare ! 
Look up to heaven — look into the human heart ; till the 
planets and the passions — the affections and the fixed stars 
are extinguished, their names cannot die. — Professor Wilson, 

The improvements which others have made in natural and 
mathematical knowledge have so vastly increased in his hands 
as to afford at once a wonderful instance how great the capacity 
is of a human soul, and how inexhaustible the subject of its 
inquiries ; so true is that remark in Holy Writ, that though a 
wise man seek to find out the works of God from the beginning 
to the end, yet shall he not be able to do ^o,^John Hughes, 
" Spectator:' 

One of the most sagacious men in this age, who continues, 
I hope, to improve and adorn it, Samuel Johnson, remarked in 
my hearing, that if Newton had flourished in ancient Greece, 
he would have been worshipped as a divinity. — Sir Wm,/ones. 

In a Latin conversation with the Pere Boscovich, at the 
house of Mrs. Cholmondeley, I heard him maintain the supe- 
riority of Sir Isaac Newton over all foreign philosophers, with 
a dignity and eloquence that surprised that learned foreigner. — 
Maxwell, o?t Dr. Johnson, 

Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night : 

God said, let Newtoii he ! and all was light. — Pope, 

In Newton this island may boast of having produced the 
rarest and greatest genius that ever arose for the ornament and 
instruction of the species. Cautious in admitting no principles 
but such as were founded in experiment \ but resolute to adopt 
every such principle, however new and unusual ; from modesty, 
ignorant of his superiority to the rest of mankind, and thence 
less careful to accommodate his reasonings to common appre- 
hensions ; more anxious to merit than to acquire fame ; he was 
from these causes long unknown to the world ; but his repu- 
tation at last broke out with a lustre which scarce any writer 
during his own lifetime had ever before attained. While 
Newton seemed to draw off the veil from some of the mysteries 
of Nature, he showed, at the same time, the imperfections of 
mechanical philosophy; and thereby restored her ultimate 



Sir Isaac Nezvfon, 



109 



secrets to that obscurity in which they ever are and ever will 
remain. — David Hiime^ ''''History of Englaiid.^^ 

In Isaac Newton two kinds of intellectual power, which 
have little in common, and which are not often found together 
in a very high degree of vigour, but which are equally necessary 
in the most sublime department of physics, were united as they 
have never been united before or since. There may have been 
minds as happily constituted as his for the cultivation of pure 
mathematical science ; there may have been minds as happily 
constituted for the cultivation of science purely experimental ; 
but in no other mind have the demonstrative faculty and the 
inductive faculty co-existed in such supreme excellence and 
perfect harmony. Perhaps in an age of Scotists and Thomists, 
even his intellect might have run to waste, as many intellects 
ran to waste which were inferior only to his. Happily the 
spirit of the age in which his lot was cast, gave the right direc- 
tion to his mind; and his mind reacted with tenfold force on 
the spirit of the age. — Macaiday^ ^'History of E7iglandy 

" 1692 : February 3rd. — What I heard to-day I must relate. 
There is one Mr. Newton (whom I have very often seen), 
Fellow of Trinity College, that is mighty famous for his learning, 
being a most excellent mathematician, philosopher, divine, &c. 
.... Of all the books he ever wrote there was one of colours 
and light, established upon thousands of experiments, which 
he had been twenty years making, and which had cost him 
many hundreds of pounds. This book, which he valued so 
much, and which was so much talked of, had the ill-hick to perish 
and be utterly lost, just when the learned author was almost 
at pushing a conclusion to the same, after this manner : — In a 
winter's morning, leaving it among his other papers on his 
study table, whilst he went to chapel, the candle, which he 
had unfortunately left burning there too, catched hold by some 
means of other papers, and they fired the aforesaid book, and 
utterly consumed it and several other valuable writings, and, 
which is most wonderful, did no further mischief. But when 
Mr. Newton came from chapel, and had seen what was done, 
every one thought he would have run mad ; he was so troubled 
thereat that he was not himself for a month after." — De la 
Pry me' s " Diary y 

His carriage was very meek, sedate, and humble*; never 
seeming angry, of profound thought, his countenance mild, 
pleasant, and comely. He always kept close to his studies, 



no 



Sir Isaac Neivtdn, 



very rarely went a visiting, excepting two or three persons, 
Mr. Ellis, Mr. Laughton, of Trinity, and Mr. Vigum, a chemist, 
in whose society he took much delight and pleasure at an 
evening when he came to wait upon him. I never knew him 
to take any recreation or pastime, either in riding out to take 
the air, walking, bowling, or any other exercise whatever; 
thinking all hours lost that were not spent in his studies, to 
which he kept so close that he seldom left his chamber, except 
at term time, when he read in the schools, as being Lucasianus 
professor ; where so few went to hear him, and fewer that 
understood him, that ofttimes he did in a manner, for want of | 

hearers, read to the walls Foreigners he received with ' 

a great deal of candour and respect. When invited to a treat, 
which was very seldom, he used to return it very handsomely, 
and with much satisfaction to himself. So intent, so serious 
upon his studies, that he ate very sparingly, nay, ofttimes he 
has forgot to eat at all ; so that going into his chamber I have 
found his mess untouched, of which, when I have reminded 
him, he would reply, " Have I ?" and then making to the table 
would eat a bit or two standing ; for I cannot say I ever saw him 
sit at table by himself. ... I cannot say I ever saw him drink . 
either wine, ale, or beer, excepting at raeals, and then very . 
sparingly. He very rarely w^ent to dine at the hall, except on 
some public days ; and then, if he has not been minded, would 
go very carelessly with shoes down at heel, stockings untied, 
surplice on, and his hair scarcely combed. ... In his chamber 
he w^alked so very much that you might have thought him to , 
be educated at Athens among the Aristotelian sect. — Humphrey 
Newton^ 1683. 

When he had friends to entertain, if he went into his study 
to fetch a bottle of wine, there was danger of his forgetting 
them. He w^ould sometimes put on his surplice to go to St. 
Mary's church. When he was going home to Cottersworth from 
Grantham, he once led his horse up Spitdegate Hill, at the 
town end ; when he designed to remount, his horse had slipped 
the bridle and gone away without his perceiving it, and he had 
only the bridle in his hand all the while. — Dr. Stukeley. 

He was insidious, ambitious, and excessively covetous of 
praise ; and impatient of contradiction. — Flafnsteed. 



Ill 



Bishop Burnet. 
1643-1715- 

I writ with design to make both myself and my readers better 
and wiser, and to lay open the good and bad of all sides and 
parties, as clearly and impartially as I myself understood it, 
concealing nothing that I thought fit to be known, and repre- 
senting things in their natural colours, without art or disguise ; 
without any regard to kindred or friends, to parties or interests. 
For I do solemnly say this to the world, and make my humble 
appeal upon it, to the great God of truth, that I tell the truth 
on all occasions as fully and freely as upon my best inquiry I 
have been able to find it out. — Bw?iet. 

Burnet's History of His Own Times " is very entertaining. 
The style indeed is mere chit-chat. I do not believe that 
Burnet intentionally Hed ; but he was so much prejudiced that 
he took no pains to find out the truth. He is like a man who 
is resolved to regulate his time by a certain watch, but will 
not inquire whether the watch be right or not — yohnson. 

His personal resentment put him upon writing history. He 
relates the actions of a persecutor and a benefactor ; and it is 
easy to believe that a man in such circumstances must violate 
the laws of truth. The remembrance of his injuries is always 
present, and gives venom to his pen. Let us add to this that 
intemperate and malicious curiosity which penetrates into the 
most private recesses of vice. — Hampton. 

A portly prince, and goodly to the sight. 
He seemed a son of Anach, for his height ; 
Like those whom stature did to crowns prefer ; 
Black-browed and bluff, like Homer's Jupiter : 
Broad-backed, and brawny-built, for love's delight, 
A prophet form'd to make a female proselyte \ 
A theologue more by need than genial bent, 
By breeding sharp, by nature confident. 
Interest in all his actions was discern'd, 
More learn'd than honest, more a wit than learn'd. 

Dry den, " The Hind and the Panther :\ 
His conversation was singularly deficient in the *art of 
address ; his sincerity was involuntary, and in certain situations 
provokingly intrusive. His love of politics, in which he took. 



112 



Bishop Burnet. 



perhaps, too great a share for one concerned in affairs of far 
higher importance, was derived, according to his own account, 
from the conversation of his father, who had the same fondness 
for poHtics as the excellent prelate himself, and whose argu- 
ments and anecdotes engendered that taste in the mind of his 
son. The character of Burnet, written by the Marquis of 
Halifax, and given by that nobleman himself to the Bishop, 
pourtrays with much delicacy of touch, and probably in not too 
severe a light, both the brilliant parts and the strong shadows 
of Burnet's mind : it brings to view the singleness of heart, 
the impetuosity of temper, the quickness to be offended, the 
readiness to forgive, the disinterestedness, the Christian 
heroism, which were offensive to lesser men from the high 
example which they presented, and which could not, without 
more inconvenience to selfish minds, be imitated. — "Memoirs 
of Duchess of Marlborough,''^ 

The fame of Burnet has been attacked with singular malice 
and pertinacity. The attack began early in his life, and is 
still carried on with undiminished vigour, though he has now 
been more than a century and a quarter in his grave. He is^ 
indeed, as fair a mark as factious animosity and petulant wit 
could desire. The faults of his understanding and temper lie 
on the surface, and cannot be missed. They are not the faults 
which are ordinarily considered as belonging to his country. 
Alone, among the many Scotchmen who have raised themselves 
to distinction and prosperity in England, he had that character 
which satirists, novelists, and dramatists, have agreed to ascribe 
to Irish adventurers. His high animal spirits, his boastfulness, 
his undissembled vanity, his propensity to blunder, his pro- 
voking indiscretion, his unabashed audacity, afforded inex- 
haustible subjects of ridicule to the Tories. Nor did his 
enemies omit to compliment him, with more pleasantry than 
delicacy, on the breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his 
calves, and his success in matrimonial projects on amorous and 
opulent widows. Yet Burnet, though open in many respects, 
to ridicule, was no contemptible man. — Macaulay^ " History of 
England r 

I do not think he designedly pubUshed anything he believed 

to be false. — Dartmouth. 

He was a man of generosity and good-nature. — Dean Swift, 
Fox considered Burnet's style to be perfect. We were once 

talking of our historian's introducing occasionally the words of 



Bishop Btmiet — A fra Behn, 



X13 



other writers into his works without marking them as quotations, 
when Fox said, that the style of some of the authors so 
treated might need a Httle mending, but that Burnet's required 
none." — Sam. Rogers, Table Talk.'' 

One of the best and worst friends that I know. — Tillotson, 
I knew Burnet, Bishop of SaHsbury ; he was a famous party 
man, and easily imposed upon by any lying spirit of his own 
faction \ but he was a better pastor than any man who is now 
seated on the bishop's bench. Although he left a large family 
when he died, yet he left them nothing more than their 
mother's fortune. He always declared that he should think 
himself guilty of the greatest crime if he was to raise fortunes 
for his children out of the revenue of his bishoprick. — Dr. King, 
We are apt to mistake, or dissemble at least, even to our- 
selves, our true principles of action. Bishop Burnet professes 
to write his " History of His Own Time " for public ends,/rt? 
ho7io publico. This might be one inducement, but who sees 
not that the main motive for engaging in that work was a love 
of prate, a busy, meddling humour to pry into State secrets, 
and the vanity of disclosing the part which he had, or fancied 
he had, in them ? He had sense and honesty, but was warped 
in his judgment of men and things, as most men are, by strong 
prejudices, and a heat of temper that sometimes looks fanatical. 
As a writer he is not very respectable. — Dr. Htird. 

Afra Behn. 

1646-8-1689. 

She had a great command of the stage, and I often won- 
dered that she should bury her favourite hero^ in a novel, 
when she might have revived him in a scene. She thought 
either that no actor could represent him, or she could not 
bear him represented; and I believed the last, when I re- 
member what I have heard from a friend of hers, that she 
always told his history more feelingly than she wrote it. — 
Thomas Souther Jie? 



^ This favourite hero was Oroonoko, a native chief of Surinam, where 
Mrs. Behn was reared. Southeme's play of "Oroonoko" is founded on 
this hero of the licentious novelist. — Ed. 
2 Southeme, remembered perhaps by one only of his numerous plays, 
Isabella; or, the Fatal Marriage." Dryd en compared him to Terence : — 

I 



114 



Afra Behii, 



Some hands write some things well, are elsewhere lame, 

But on all themes your powers are the same ; 

Of buskin and of sock you know the pace, 

And tread in both with equal skill and grace. 

But when you write of love, Astr^a, then 

Love dips his arrows where you wet your pen. 

Such charming lines did never paper grace, 

Soft as your sex and smooth as beauty's face. 

Chaides Cotton} 

Two warrior chiefs^ the voice of Fame divide, 
Who best deserv'd not Plutarch could decide. 
Behold two mightier conquerors appear. 
Some for your wit, some for your eyes declare ; 
Debates arise which captivate us most. 
And none can tell the charm by which he's lost ; 
The bow and quiver does Diana bear, 
Venus the dove, Pallas the shield and spear ; 
Poets such emblems to their gods assign. 
Hearts bleeding by the dart and pen be thine. 

Lo7^d Lansdoiwie. 

A grand-aunt of my own, Mrs. Keith, of Ravelstone, who 
was a person of some condition, being a daughter of Sir John 
Swinton, of Swinton, lived with unabated vigour of intellect 
to a very advanced age. She wa.s very fond of reading, and 
enjoyed it to the last of her long life. One day she asked me, 
when we happened to be alone together, whether I had ever 
seen Mrs. Behn's novels ? I confessed the charge. — Whether 
I could get her a sight of them ? I said, with some hesitation, 
I believed I could ; but that I did not think she would like 
either the manners, or the language, which approached too near 
that of Charles II. 's time to be quite proper reading. Never- 
theless," said the good old lady, I remember them being so 



* ' Yet those who blame thy tale applaud thy wit ; 
vSo Terence plotted and so Terence writ. 
Like his thy thoughts are true, thy language clean, 
E'en lewdness is made moral in thy scene." 
Pope has celebrated him as — 

' ' Tom, wdiom heaven sent down to raise 
The price of prologues and of plays." — Ed. 

1 ^'Cheerful, hearty Mr. Coiton.''— Charles Lamb, 

2 Alexander and Caesar. — Lansdoivne, 



A fra Beiin — Earl of Rochester. 



115 



much admired, and being so much interested in them myself, 
that I wish to look at them again." To hear was to obey. 
So I sent Mrs. Aphra Behn curiously sealed up, with private 
and confidential " on the packet, to my gay old grand-aunt. 
The next time I saw her afterwards she gave me back Aphra, 
properly wrapped up, with nearly these words : — " Take back 
your bonny Mrs. Behn, and if you will take my advice, put her 
in the fire ; for I found it impossible to get through the very 
first novel. But is it not," she said, " a very odd thing, that I, 
an old woman of eighty and upvv^ards, sitting alone, feel myself 
ashamed to read a book which, sixty years ago, I have heard 
read aloud for the amusement of large circles, consisting of the 
first and most creditable society in London ?" — Sir Walter Scott. 

The stage how loosely does Astrea tread, 
AVho fairly puts all characters to bed ! — Pope. 

Earl of Rochester. 

1647-1680. 

Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, was naturally modest till the 
court corrupted him. His wit had in it a peculiar brightness 
to which none could ever arrive. He gave himself up to all 
sorts of extravagance, and to the Vvdldest frolics that a wanton 
wit could devise. He would have gone about the streets as a 
beggar, and made love as a porter. He set up a stage as an 
Italian mountebank. He w^as for some years ahvays drunk, 
and was ever doing some mischief The king loved his com- 
pany for the diversion it aft'brded, better than his person ; and 
there was no love lost between them. He took his revenges 
in many libels. He found out a footman that knew all the 
court, and he furnished him with a red coat and a musket as a 
sentinel, and kept him all the winter long every night at the 
doors of such ladies as he believed might be in intrigues. In 
the court a sentinel is little minded, and is beHeved to be 
posted by a captain of the guards to hinder a combat : so 
this man saw who walked about and visited at forbidden hours. 
In the last year of his life I was much with him, and have 
writ a book of what pass'd between him and me. I do verily 
believe he was then so entirely changed, that, if he had 
recovered, he would have made good all his resolutions. — 
Burnet, 

I 2 



ii6 



Earl of Rochester, 



Lord Rochester was eminent for the vigour of his colloquial 
wit, and remarkable for many wild pranks and sallies of 
extravagance. The glare of his general character diffused 
itself upon his writings ; the compositions of a man whose name 
was heard so often were certain of attention, and from many 
readers certain of applause. — yohnson, 

Rochester I despise for want of wit. — Dry den. 

Sometimes he has some humour, never wit, 

And if it rarely, very rarely, hit ; 

'Tis under so much nasty rubbish laid 

To find it out 's the cinder- woman's trade. ^ — Ibid, 

His poetical genius is justly celebrated by Voltaire. — Dr, 
Maclaine, 

Rochester had much energy in his thought and diction, and 
though the ancient satirists often used great liberty in their 
expressions, yet, as the ingenious historian observes, " Their 
freedom no more resembles the license of Rochester than the 
nakedness of an Indian does that of a common prostitute." 
(Hume). — Warton. 

The impurity of Rochester is too disgusting to do harm.— 
Caleb Colto7i, 

The very name of Rochester is offensive to modest ears ; 
yet does his poetry discover such energy of style and such 
poignancy of satire, as give ground to imagine what so fine a 
genius, had he fallen in a more happy age, and had followed 
better examples, was capable of producing. — Hume, 



^ In addition to this character he was wanting in courage. Johnson tells 
us that he was reproached for slinking away in street quarrels, and leaving 
his comrades to help themselves as they might. The Duke of Buckingham 
averred that he had refused to fight him. Johnson quotes some lines which 
sufficiently confirm the account of his cowardice : — 

He who can push into a midnight fray 
His brave companion, and then run away, 
Leaving him to be murder'd in the street. 
Then put it off by some buffoon conceit ; 
Him thus dishonour'd for a wit you own. 
And court him as top fiddler of the town. — Ed, 



117 



V Elkanah Settle. 

1648-1724. 

He's an animal of a most deplored understanding, without 
reading and conversation. His being is in a twilight of sense 
and some glimmering of thought which he never can fashion 
into wit or English. His style is boisterous and rough-hewn, 
his rhyme incorrigibly lewd, and his numbers perpetually harsh 
and ill-sounding. The little talent which he has is fancy. He 
sometimes labours with a thought j but, with the pudder he 
makes to bring it into the world, 'tis commonly still-born ; so 
that for want of learning and elocution he will never be able to 
express anything either naturally or justly. — Drydefi, 

We have no City poet now ; that is an office which has gone 
into disuse. The last was Elkanah Settle. There is some- 
thing in ?ia?nes which one cannot help feeling. Now Elkanah 
Settle sounds so queer, who can expect much from that name ? 
We should have no hesitation to give it for John Dryden in 
preference to Elkanah Settle, from the names only, without 
knowing their different merits. — yohn Wilkes, 

Poor Elkanah ! all other changes past, 

For bread in Smithfield dragons hiss'd at last ; 

Spit streams of fire to make the butchers gape, 

And found his manners suited to his shape. — Young, 

Elkanah Settle was one of those unfortunate individuals 
whom Nature had designed for a peaceful and honourable 
oblivion, but whose perversity of temperament doom them to 
an inheritance of everlasting ridicule. He entertained a steadfast 
antipathy to Dryden. This antipathy Dryden condescended 
to reciprocate. Settle was a zealous Whig and poet-laureate to 
the City of London. It is related that the Whigs entrusted to 
him the management of a procession which had its cHmax in 
the burning of the Pope in efiigy. Shaftesbury, whose declining 
influence began to render him an inconvenient friend, had long 
been his patron. The philosophical politician was accordingly 
doomed to his last humiliation — he was abandoned by Setde ! 
About the same time Tory principles began very inopportunely 
to predominate among the majority of the city. A crisis was 
clearly at hand ; but Elkanah was prepared to meet it. The 
anti-papal procession, the patronage of Shaftesbury, the Whig 



ii8 Elkanah Settle — Johnj Lord S outers. 



songs, and some other unfortunate antecedents, were forthwith 
obHterated \ and Settle appeared before the City of London 
metamorphosed into a Tory parasite. He had vehemently 
declaimed against the profanity and immoraHty of the stage ; 
yet so truly in his case was necessity without its law, that the 
Revolution drove him to write plays for puppet-shows. His 
earlier days had been thrown into the strife of Hterary warfare, 
and his later years were spent in mounting the stage at the 
fairs and combating with wooden performers. The unhappy 
man was at length admitted to the Charter House, whither 
he finally retired from the toils of hterary ambition and the 
toils of battle at the puppet-show. — Ediiihirgh Review^ i^SS- 

John, Lord Somers. 
1650-1716. 

He had traversed the whole vast range of polite literature, 
ancient and modern. He was at once a munificent and 
a severely judicious patron of genius and learning. Locke 
owed opulence to Somers. By Somers, Addison was drawn 
forth from a cell in a college. In distant countries the name 
of Somers was mentioned with respect and gratitude by great 
scholars and poets who had never seen his face. He was the 
benefactor of Leclerc. He was the friend of Filicaja. Neither 
political nor religious difficulties prevented him from extending 
his powerful protection to merit. Hickes, the fiercest and most 
intolerant of all the non-jurors, obtained, by the influence of 
Somers, permission to study Teutonic antiquities in freedom 
and safety. Vertue, a strict Roman Catholic, was raised by 
the discriminating and liberal patronage of Somers, from 
poverty and obscurity to the first rank among the engravers of 
the age. — Maccnday, 

Your lordship appears as great in your private life as in the 
most important offices which you have borne. I would there- 
fore rather choose to speak of the pleasure you afford all 
who are admitted into your conversation, of your elegant taste 
in all the polite parts of learning, of your great humanity and 
complacency of manners, and of the surprising influence which 
is pecuHar to you in making every one who converses with your 
lordship prefer you to himself, without thinking the less meanly 
of his talents.— y^^^/j-^?;/, 



Johiiy Lord Somers, 



119 



Having a strong bent towards literature, as well as a keen 
manly interest in the vital questions which concerned the 
liberties of England under Charles II., he distinguished himself 
by pohtical tracts which maintained constitutional rights. He 

rose at the bar to honour and popularity He was 

active in co-operation with those v/ho were planning the 
expulsion of the Stuarts, and the bringing over of the Prince of 
Orange. — Professor Morley. 

For worthy of the wise 

Nothing can seem but virtue, nor earth yield 

Their fame an equal field, 

Save where impartial Freedom gives the prize ; 

There Somers fixed his name, 

Enroll'd the next to WilHam \ there shall Time 

To every wondering clime 

Point out that Somers, who, from Faction's crowd 

The sland'rous and the loud 

Could fair assent and modest reverence claim. 

Akenside, 

Of Lord Somers, indeed, we can scarcely be said to know 
anything at all. That he v/as a person of unimpeachable 
integrity, a judge of great capacity and learning, a firm friend 
of liberty, but a cautious and safe counsellor in most difiicult 
emergencies, all are ready to acknowledge. But the authority 
which he possessed among his contemporaries, the influence 
which his sound and practical wisdom exercised over their 
proceedings, the services which he was thus enabled to render 
in steering the constitution safe through the most trying times, 
and saving us from arbitrary power without paying the price of 
our liberties in anarchy and bloodshed ; nay, conducting the 
whole violent proceedings of a revolution in all the deliberation 
and almost in the forms of an ordinary legal proceeding — have 
surrounded his name with a mild yet imperishable glory, which 
in the contrast of our dark ignorance respecting all the par- 
ticulars and details of his life, gives the figure something 
altogether mysterious and ideal. — Ediiibicrgh Revieiu^ 1838. 



120 



Sir Richard Blackmore. 
1650-1726. 

His name was so long used to point every epigram upon 
dull writers, that it became at last a bye-word of contempt.— 

j^olmsoii. 

Of Blackmore's attainments in the ancient tongues, it may be 
sufficient to say that in his prose he has confounded an 
aphorism with an apophthegm, and that when in his verse he 
treats of classical subjects, his habit is to regale his readers 
with four false quantities to a page. — Macaulay, 

'Twas in his carriage the sublime 

Sir Richard Blackmore used to rhyme, 

And (if the wits don't do him wrong) 
'Twixt death and epics pass'd his time, 

Scribbling and killing all day long. — Moore. 

... Sir Richard Blackmore, who, though he shines in his poem 
called " Creation," has written more absurdities in verse than any 
writer of our country. — Williain Cowper, 

Mr. Churchill favoured me with the present of Sir R. 
Blackmore's '\ King Arthur." I had read " King Arthur" before, 
and read it with admiration, which is not at all weakened by 
this second piece. All our English poets (except Milton) 

have been mere ballad-makers in comparison with him. 

Molyiieux to Locke. 

Though Sir R. B.'s vein in poetry be what everybody must 
allow him to have an extraordinary talent in, and though with 
you I exceedingly valued his first preface, yet I must own to 
you there was nothing I so much admired him for as for what 
he says of hypotheses in his last. It seems to me so right, 
and is yet so much out of the way of the ordinary writers and 
practitioners in that faculty, that it shows as great a strength 
and penetration of judgment as his poetry has shown flight of 
fancy. — Locke to Molyueux, 

I cannot conclude this book upon the Creation" without 
mentioning a poem which has lately appeared under that title. 
The work was undertaken with so good an intention, and is 
executed with so great a mastery, that it deserves to be looked 
upon as one of the most useful and noble productions in our 
English verse. The reader cannot but be pleased to find the 



5/r Richard Blackmore, 



121 



depths of philosophy enHvened with all the charms of poetry, 
and to see so great a strength of reason amidst so beautiful a re- 
dundancy of the imagination.^ — Addison, " Spectator^' No. 339. 

Sir Richard Blackmore's notion of wit is, that it is a series of 
high and exalted ferments. It very possibly 7nay be ; but not 
exactly comprehending what is meant by a series of high and 
exalted ferments," I do not think myself bound to waste much 
time in criticising the metaphysics of this learned physician. — 
Sydney Smith. 

He was a thorough Whig, earnestly religious, and given to 
the production of heroic poems. Steele shared his principles, 
and honoured his sincerity. — Professor Mo7'ley. 

Mortal, how darest thou with such lines address 

My awful seat, and trouble my recess ? 

In Essex marshy hundreds is a cell 

Where lazy fogs and drizzly vapours dwell ; 

Thither raw damps on drooping wings repair, 

And shivering quartans shake the sickly air. 

There, when fatigu'd, some silent hours I pass. 

And substitute physicians in my place. 

Then dare not, for the future, once rehearse 

The dissonance of such untuneful verse ; 

But in your lines let energy be found. 

And learn to rise in sense and sink in sound. — Garth. 



^ Blackmore's " Creation" appeared in 17 12. Dennis, the arch-critic of 
the day, was equally loud with Addison in its praise. It is," says he, 
*• a philosophical poem which has equalled that of Lucretius in the beauty 
of its versification, and infinitely surpassed it in the solidity and strength of 
its reasoning." "Had Blackmore," says Johnson, "written nothing else, 
it would have transmitted him to posterity among the first favourites of the 
English muse. " According to Ambrose Phillips, "Blackmore as he pro- 
ceeded in this poem laid his manuscript from time to time before a club of 
wits with whom he associated, and every man contributed as he could 
either improvement or correction ; so that there are perhaps nowhere in 
the book thirty lines together that now stand as they were originally 
written." The idea was ingenious. Blackmore might lose the credit of 
originality ; but he was at least certain of praise from all who had given 
their corrections. — Ed. 



122 



Jeremy Collier. 
1650-1726. 

Jeremy Collier vras a clergyman of the Church of England, 
bred at Cambridge. His talents and attainments were such 
as might have been expected to raise him to the highest honours 
of his profession. He had an extensive knowledge of books. . . 
His notions touching holy orders, Episcopal government, the 
efficacy of the sacram.ents, the guilt of schism, the importance 
of vestments, ceremonies, and solemn days, differed little from 
those which are now held by Dr. Pusey and Mr. Newman. . . 
In 1698 Colher pubHshed his " Short View of the Profaneness 
and ImmoraHty of the Enghsh Stage." . . . There is hardly any 
book of that time from which it would be possible to select 
specimens of writing so excellent and so various. To compare 
Collier with Pascal would indeed be absurd ; yet we hardly 
know where, except in the " Provincial Letters," we can find 
mirth so harmoniously and becomingly blended with solemnity, 
as in the " Short View." — Macaulay. 

Jeremy CoUier fought without a rival ; and, therefore, could 
not claim a victory. — JoJinson. 

I will not say. The zeal of God's house has eaten him up ; 
but I am sure it has devoured some part of his good manners | 
and civility. — Dryden, \ 

He was formed for a controvertist : with sufficient learning ; 
with diction vehement and pointed, though often vulgar and 
incorrect ; with unconquerable pertinacity \ with wit in the 
highest degree keen and sarcastic \ and with all those powers 
exalted and invigorated by just confidence in his cause. Thus 
qualified, and thus incited, he walked out to battle, and assailed 
at once most of the living writers, from Dryden to D'Urfey. 
His onset was violent ; those passages which, whilst they stood 
single, excited little notice, when they were accumulated and 
exposed together, excited horror ; the wise and the pious caught 
the alarm ; and the nation wondered why it had so long suffered 
irreligion and licentiousness to be openly taught at the public 
charge. — Johnson^ " Life of Congreve.^^ 

If I do not return him civiUties in calling him names, it is 
because I am not very well versed in his nomenclatures. ... I 
will only call him Mr. Collier^ and that I will call him as often 



Jeremy Collier — Thomas Otivay. 123 

(■ 

as I think he shall deserve it. The corruption of a rotten 
divine is the generation of a sour critic. — Congreve, 

Thomas Otway. 
1651-1685. 

Torn Otway came next, Tom Shadweil's dear zany, 

And swears for heroics he writes best of any ; 

" Don Carlos " his pockets so amply had fill'd 

That his mange was cured, and his lice were all kill'd. 

But Apollo had seen his face on the stage, 

And prudently did not think fit to engage 

The scum of a play-house for the prop of an age. 

Rochester^ " Session of the Poets. ''^ 

Otway had a genius finely turned to the pathetic ; but he 
neither observes strictly the rules of the drama, nor the rules, 
still more essential, of propriety and decorum. — Hume. 

Exact Racine and Corneille's noble fire 
Showed us that France has something to admire. 
Not but the tragic spirit was our own, 
And full in Shakspeare, fair in Otway shone ; 
But Otway fail'd to polish or refine. — Pope. 

Otway's pretensions to mere poetry were very slight; and 
his lyrical pieces are entirely worthless. What he did, he 
effected by a strong contrast of character, by spirited dialogue, 
and by always keeping in view the m^ain object of the play, 
He did not dally with his subject, nor waste his strength in 
figures and conceits, but went straight to the end and kept 
expectation alive. — Lord Jeffrey. 

Otway had not much cultivated versification, nor much 
replenished his mind with general knowledge. His principal 
power was in moving the passions, to which Dryden in his 
latter years left an illustrious testimony. He appears by some 
of his verses to have been a zealous loyalist, and had what 
was in those times the common rewa^rd of loyalty : he lived 
and died neglected. — JoJmson. 

More tears have been shed for the sorrows of Bdvidera 
and Monimia, than for those of Juliet and Desdemona.— 
Sir Walter Scott, 



124 



Nahum Tate. 
1652-1715. 

Nahum Tate, who is ready to take oath that he has caused 
many reams of verse to be pubUshed, whereof both himself and 
his bookseller (if lawfully required) can still produce authentic 
copies, and therefore wonders why the world is pleased to make 
such a secret of it. — Siuift, 

But Tate, alas ! excuse him if you can, 

Is now a scribbler who was once a man. — Dr. Young. 

The bard whom pilfer'd pastorals renown. 

Who turns a Persian tale for half a crown, 

Just writes to make his barrenness appear, 

And strains, from hard-bound brains, eight lines a year ; 

He who still wanting, though he lived on theft, 

Steals much, spends Httle, yet has nothing left : 

And he, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning, 

Means not, but blunders round about a meaning : 

And he whose fustian's so sublimely bad 

It is not poetry, but prose run mad : 

All these my modest satire bade translate, 

And own'd that nine such poets made a Tate.^ — Pope, 

Nathaniel Lee. 

1655-1691-2. 

Your beauteous images must be allowed 

By all but some vile poets of the crowd. 

But how should any sign-post dauber know 

The worth of Titian or of Angelo ? 

Hard features every bungler can command ; 

To draw true beauty shows a master's hand. — Dry den. 



^ Tate is remarkable for two performances : his version of the Psalms, 
which he produced in concert with Dr. Nicholas Brady, and his continua- 
tion of Dryden's satire, Absalom and Achitophel." He succeeded (1692) 
Shadwell as poet-laureate, a post of which the salary was 1 00/. a year. He 
died in extreme indigence in the Mint, — Ed, 



Nathaiiiel Lee — John Dennis, 



J 25 



Of all the dramatic writers since the return of Charles, Lee 
may be considered as the first. It is true that Otway has con- 
structed the best drama, and the stage is most indebted to him ; 
but Lee has assuredly more imagination and passion than his 
rival, although every play which he has written is disgraced by 
the most unaccountable fustian. There is great beauty and 
tenderness in " Theodosius and great power mixed with 
extravagance both in " The Rival Queens " and " The Massacre 
of Paris," and others. — Edinburgh Review^ 1823. 

Lee was so pathetic a reader of his own scenes, that I have 
been informed by an actor who was present, that while Lee was 
reading to Major Mohun at a rehearsal, Mohun, in the warmth 
of his admiration, threw down his part and said, " Unless I 
were able to play as well as you read it, to what purpose should 
I undertake it ?" And yet this very author, whose elocution 
raised such admiration in so capital an actor, when he attempted 
to be an actor himself, soon quitted the stage in an honest 
despair of ever making any profitable figure there. — -Colley Cibber. 

When Nathaniel Lee, commonly called the " mad poet," was 
confined during four years of his short life in Bedlam, a sane 
idiot of a scribbler mocked his calamity, and observed that it 
was easy to write like a madman ; Lee answered, No, sir, it 
is not so easy to write like a madman j but very easy to write 
like a fool." — " Percy Anecdotes'^ 

Disappointed of a fellowship at Cambridge, he turned actor ; • 
failed upon the stage, but prospered as a writer for it. His 
career as a dramatist began with " Nero," in 1675, and he wrote 
in all eleven plays. His most successful play was the Rival 
Queens, or the Death of Alexander the Great," produced in 
1677. Next to it in success, and superior in merit,, was his 
"Theodosius, or the Force of Love," produced in 1680. He 
took part with Dryden in writing the very successful adaptation 
of " CEdipus," produced in 1670, as an Enghsh tragedy, based 
upon Sophocles and Seneca. During two years of his life Lee 
was a lunatic in Bedlam. — H, Morley. 

John Dennis. 

: 1^57-1734. 

i Should Dennis publish you had stabb'd your brother, 
Lampoon'd your monarch, or debauch'd your mother, 



126 Joliii Dennis— Montagtie, Earl of Halifax, 



Say, what revenge on Dennis can be had, 
Too dull for laughter, for reply too mad ? 
On one so poor you cannot take the law, 
On one so old your sword you scorn to draw ; 
Uncag'd then, let the harmless monster rage, 
Secure in dulness, madness, want, and age. — Savage. 

Equal to Boileau in poetry, and superior to him in critical 
abihties. — Blackmore. 

One Dennis, commonly called the critic, who had written a 
threepenny pamphlet against the power of France, being in the 
country and hearing of a French privateer hovering about the 
coast, although he were twenty miles from the sea, fled to town 
and told his friends they need not v/onder at his haste, for the 
King of France, having got intelligence where he was, had 
sent a privateer on purpose to catch him. — Sztnft, 

Dennis had written bad odes, bad tragedies, bad comedies ; 
he had moreover a larger share than most men of those infir- 
mities and eccentricities which excite laughter. — Macaulay. 

The Grub-street Timon — old John Dennis. — Thackeray. 

Thou never didst let the sun into thy garret for fear he 
should bring a bailiff along with him . . . Your years are about 
sixty-five, an ugly vinegar face, that if you had any command 
you would be obeyed out of fea,r, from your ill-nature pictured 
there ; not from any other motive. Your height is about some 
five feet five inches. You see I can give your exact measure 
as if I had taken your dimensions with a good cudgel, which I 
promise you to do so soon as ever I have the good fortune to 
m.eet you . . . Your doughty paunch stands before you like a 
firkin of butter, and your duck legs seem to be cast for 
carrying burdens. Thy works are libels upon others, and 
satires upon thyself; and while they bark at men of sense, call 
him knave and fool that wrote them. Thou hast a great 
antipathy to thy own species, and hatest the sight of a fool but 
in thy glass. — Steele. 

Montague, Earl of Halifax. 

1661-1715. 

Fed with soft dedication all day long, 
Horace and he went hand and hand in song ; 
His library (where busts of poets dead 
And a true Pindar stood y/ithout a head) 



Montague, Earl of Halifax. 



Recelv'd of wits an undistinguish'd race, 

Who first his judgment ask'd, and then a place j 

Much they extoll'd his pictures, much his seat, 

And flatter'd every day, and some days eat ; 

Till grown more frugal in his riper days 

He paid some bards with port, and some with praise ; 

To some a dry rehearsal was assign'd. 

And others (harder still) he paid in kind. — Fope. 

Of him, who from a poet became a patron of poets, it will 
be readily believed that the works would not miss of celebra- 
tion. Addison began to praise him early, and was followed or 
accompanied by other poets ; perhaps by all except Swift and 
Pope, who forbore to flatter him in his life, and after his death 
spoke of him, Swift with slight censure, and Pope, in the 
character of Bufo, with acrimonious contempt. — D7\ yohnsoji. 

For wit, for humour, and for judgment fam'd. — Addison. 

'Tis Montagu's rich vein alone must prove 

None but a Phidias should attempt a Jove. — Garth. 

He seems to have died too rich for his honour. He was 
splendid, however, in his establishment, and his collection of 
books and objects of art, and his extensive patronage of men 
of letters, were a credit both to himself and his country ; although 
it may well be true that ^' fed with soft dedication all day 
long" he grew too fond of that inflating food. As a politician, 
though certainly not free from self-interest, he deserves the 
praise of enlightened views, manly principles, and an honour- 
able consistency. — L^icy Aikin. 

Of him as of several of his contemporaries, especially of 
Mulgrave and Sprat, it may be said that his fame had suffered 
from the folly of those editors who, down to our time, have 
persisted in reprinting his rhymes among the v>^orks of the 
British poets. There is not a year in which hundreds of verses 
as good as he ever wrote are not sent in for the Newdegate 
prize at Oxford, and for the Chancellor's medal at Cambridge. 
His mind had indeed great quickness and vigour, but not that 
kind of vigour and quickness which produces great dramas or 
odes ; and it is most unjust to him that his Man of Honour" 
and his Epistle on the Battle of the Boyne" should be placed 
side by side with " Comus" or Alexander's Feast." * Other 
eminent statesmen and orators, Walpole, Pulteney, Chatham, 
FoX; v/rote poetry not better than his. But fortunately for 



1 28 Earl of Halifax — Bishop A iterbiLry, 



them, their metrical compositions were never thought worthy 
to be admitted into any collection of our national classics. — 
Macaulay. 

Bishop Atterbury. ^ 

1662-1732. 

Urim was civil, and not void of sense, 
Had humour and a courteous confidence \ 
So spruce he moves, so gracefully he cocks 
The hallow'd rose, declares him orthodox. 
He pass'd his easy hours, instead of prayer, 
In madrigals and phillysing the fair ; 
Constant at feasts and each decorum knew. 
And soon as the dessert appear'd withdrew. 
Always obliging and without offence. 
And fancy'd for his gay impertinence. 
But see how ill-mistaken parts succeed ! 
He threw off my dominion and would read ; 
Engag'd in controversy, wrangled well. 
In convocation language could excel. 
In volumes prov'd the Church without defence — 
By nothing guarded but by Providence. 

Gai'th^ " The Dispensary T 

If Atterbury was not worse used than any honest man in 
the world ever was, there were strong contradictions between 
his public and private character. — Dr, Hei-ring. 

Sir John Pringle had expressed a wish that I would ask Dr. 
Johnson's opinion w^hat were the best English sermons for 
style. . . . Atterbury?" Johnson : " Yes, Sir, one of the best." 
— BoswelL 

A mind inexhaustibly rich in all the resources of controversy, 
and familiar with the artifices which make falsehood look like 
truth, and ignorance like knowledge. — Macaulay. 

He was accustomed to swear on any strong provocation. — 
Warton^ 



^ "All honour," says an enthusiastic writer, "to the memory of Tom 
Warton — all honour and love. He was a poet as well as an antiquary, and 
understood Spenser far better than he thought ; and had he not had the 
fear of Aristotle before his eyes, and an awe in his soul, not too profound. 



Bishop A tterbicry. 



129 



I went to Mr. Pope one morning at Twickenham, and 
found a large folio Bible with gilt clasps lying before him upon 
his table ; and as I knew his way of thinking upon that book, 
asked him jocosely if he was going to write an answer to it ? 

It is a present," said he, " or rather a legacy from my old 
friend the Bishop of Rochester. I went to take leave of him 
yesterday in the Tower, where I saw this Bible upon the table. 
After the first compliments the Bishop said to me, ^ My friend 
Pope, considering your infirmities and my age and exile, it is 
not likely that we should ever meet again, and therefore I give 
you this legacy to remember me by it.' ' Does your lordship 
abide by it yourself?' ' I do.' * If you do, my lord, it is but 
lately. May I beg to know what new lights or arguments have 
prevailed with you now, to entertain an opinion so contrary to 
that which you entertained of this Book all the former part of 
your life ?' The bishop replied, ^ W e have not time to talk of 
these things ; but take home the book : I will abide by it, and 
I recommend you to do so too, and so God bless you.' " — 
Chesterfield} 

He has so particular a regard for his congregation that he 
commits to his memory what he has to say to them j and has 
so soft and graceful a behaviour, that it must attract your 



for that was impossible, but habitual rather than reflective, for the Greek 
and Roman genius — the Classics — he would have left unsaid many question- 
able, many important, and many untrue sayings (yet has he said many that 
are most true) about the ' Faerie Queen.' He was in his day, and is now, 
one of the brightest ornaments, the greatest glories of Oxford, of her whom 
Lord Brougham (not in the Edinburgh Revieiv) rightly calls that 'old, 
renowned, and famous university.'" — Blackivood^s Magazine, I §3 5- Johnson 
had no opinion of Warton as a poet. " Warton's verses are come out," 
said Mrs. Thrale. Yes," answered Johnson, "and this frost has struck 
them in again. Here are some lines I have written to ridicule them j but 
remember, I love the fellow dearly, for all I laugh at him : — 
* ' Wheresoe'er I turn my view. 

All is strange, yet nothing new ; 

Endless labour all along, 

Endless labour to be wrong ; 

Phrase that time has flung away, 

Uncouth words in disarray ; 

Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet. 

Ode and elegy and sonnet." — Ed. 
1 Lord Mahon (in his edition of Chesterfield's Letters") expresses his 
utter disbelief in this story. " What judicious critic," he inquires, ' " would 
weigh in the balance for a moment the veracity of Pope against the piety 
of Atterbury?"— Ed. 

K 



130 Bishop Atterhiry-^'^Dr. Bentley, 



attention. His person it must be confessed is no small recom- 
mendation ; but he is to be highly commended for not losing 
that advantage, and adding to a propriety of speech which 
might pass the criticism of Longinus, an action which would 
have been approved by Demosthenes. He has a peculiar 
force in his way, and has many of his audience who could not 
be intelligent hearers of his discourse, were there no explana- 
tions as well as grace in his actions. This art of his is used 
with the most exact and honest skill. He never attempts your 
passions till he has convinced your reason. All the objections 
which you can form are laid open and dispersed before he 
uses the least vehemence in his sermon ; but when he thinks he 
has your head, he very soon wins your heart, and never pre- 
tends to show the beauty of holiness till he has convinced you 
of the truth of it. — Quoted in '-''Percy Anecdotes T 

To the oases of Tillotson, Sherlock, and Atterbury, we must 
wade through many a barren page, in which the weary 
Christian can descry nothing all around him but a dreary 
expanse of trite sentiments and languid words. — Sydiiey SmitJu 

A prelate for wit and for eloquence fam'd 
Apollo soon miss'd, and he needs not be nam'd ; 
Since amidst a whole bench, of which some are so bright, 
Not one of them shines as learn'd and polite. 

Dnke of Buckingham, 

Is it not known that the moment the queen was expired, 
Atterbury proposed to go in his lawn sleeves and proclaim the 
Pretender at Charing Cross, but Bolingbroke's heart failing 
him, Atterbury swore ^' There was the best cause in Europe 
lost for want of spirit !" — Horace Walpole, 

Dr. Bentley, 
1662-1742. 

This man, so deeply versed in ancient learning, it will appear 
was destitute of taste and genius in his native language,—/. 
n Israeli, 

The originality of Bentley 's style, the boldness of his opinions, 
and his secure reliance upon unfailing stores of learning, all 
marked him out as a scholar to be ranked with Scaliger, Cau- 
fsabon, and Gataker. — Monk's '-'- Life of Bentley T 



Dr, Bentley. 



131 



There is a person styled Dr. Bentley who has written near a 
thousand pages of immense erudition, giving a true and full ac- 
count of a certain squabble of wonderful importance between 
himself and a bookseller; he is a writer of infinite wit and 
humour; no man rallies with a better grace and in more 
sprightly turns. — Swifts 

The mighty scholiast whose unweary'd pains 
Made Horace dull, and humbled Maro's strains ; 
Turn what they will to verse, their toil is vain. 
Critics like me shall make it prose again — ■ 
For Attic phrase in Plato let them seek ; 
I poach in Suidas for unlicenc'd Qxxt^—Pope. 

Swift imbibed from Sir W. Temple, and Pope from Swift, an 
inveterate aversion and contempt for Bentley, whose admirable 
" Boyle's Lectures," " Remarks on Collins," emendations of 
Menander and Callimachus, and Tully's Tuscul. Disp., whose 
erudition of Horace, and, above all, " Dissertation on the Epis- 
tles of Phalaris " (in which he gained the most complete victory 
over a whole army of wits), all of them exhibit the most striking 
marks of accurate and extensive erudition, and a vigorous and 
acute understanding. — Warton. 

The greatest scholar that had appeared in Europe since the 
revival of \ei\.tx^—Macaulay. 

Was not he the first that discovered the unknown use of the 
excellent Sir Isaac Newton's Principia Mathematica," and 
successfully apphed that theory to demonstrate the being of 
God? Have not all the writers on that subject copied after 
his Boyle's Lectures?" And have not the atheists been 
silent since that time, and sheltered themselves under deism ? — 
''^ Present State of Tri7i, Coll. Cam,^^ 17 10. 

A mean, dull, unmannerly pedant.— >S'/r W, Tein^le, 

Bentley, long to wrangling schools confined, 
And but by books acquainted with mankind ; 
To Milton lending sense, to Horace w^it, 
He makes them write what never poet writ. — Mallet, 

A gentleman who had heard that Bentley was born in the 
North, said to Person, "Wasn't he a Scotchman?" ."No, 
Sir," rephed Person, " Bentley was a great Greek scholar,"— 
PorsonianaP 

Vast as was Bentley's reading, none of it was superfluous, 

K 2 



Dr. Bentley, 



for he turns it all to account ; his felicity in fixing his eye 
at once on what he needed, in always finding the evidence that 
he wanted, often where no one else would have thought of 
looking for it, is almost supernatural. His learning suggested 
all the phrases that might be admitted in any given passage ; 
but his taste did not always lead him to select the best. — 
Hai'tley Coleridge. 

His diction exhibits a grotesque mixture of the pedantic and 
the familiar, if not the vulgar, and upon the whole must be 
considered as falling below the standard of good writing at that 
period. Of the authorized words of the language he makes an 
unscrupulous choice, and he is too apt to introduce words of 
his own fabrication. His style may therefore be described, in 
his own terms, as a putid iiegoce ; but his compositions, never- 
theless, possess that charm which is always produced by the 
characteristic workings of genius. — Edi?ibtirgh Review^ 1830. 

He seems to have been the first person who understood the 
power which may be exercised over literature by a reviewer. — 
Dr. Monk. 

Many things now familiar to young academics (thanks to the 
labours of Dawes, and Burney, and Parr, and Person, and 
Elmsley) were utterly unknown to scholars like Bentley, and to 
Scaliger before him ; and though it might seem an ungracious 
task, it would not be void either of pleasure or of profit to give 
select specimens of errors in metre and syntax committed by 
these illustrious men. — Tate's Litrodiidionto Greek Tragic aiid 
Comic Metres r 

From the perusal of Bentley we now rise, and upon former 
occasions too we have risen, as from a sccena dnhia^ where the 
keenest or most fastidious appetite may find gratification in a 
profusion of various and exquisite viands, which not only please 
the taste but invigorate the constitution. We leave him, as we 
have often left him before, with renewed and increased convic- 
tion, that amidst all his blunders and refinements, all his frivo- 
lous cavils and hardy conjectures, all his sacrifices of taste to 
acuteness, and all his rovings from poetry to prose, still he is 
the first critic whom a true scholar would wish to consult in 
adjusting the text of Horace. Yes, the memory of Bentley has 
ultimately triumphed over the attacks of his enemies, and his 
mistakes are found to be light, in the balance, when weighed 
against his numerous, his splendid, and matchless discoveries. 
He has not much to fear even from such rivals in literary fame 



Dr. Bentley — Daniel Defoe, 



133 



as Cunningham, Baxter, and Dawes. He deserved to obtain, 
and he has obtained, the honourable suffrages of kindred spirits, 
a Lennep, a Ruhnken, a Hemsterhuis, and a Porson. In fine, 
he was one of those rare and exalted personages who, whether 
right or wrong in detached instances, always excite attention 
and reward it — always inform where they do not convince — 
always send away their readers with enlarged knowledge — with 
animated curiosity and with wholesome exercise to those general 
habits of thinking which enable them upon maturer reflection, 
and after more extensive inquiry, to discern and avoid the 
errors of their illustrious guides. — Dr. Parr. 

The greatest critic and most amiable grammarian of the last 
age. — -Dr, Lowth. 

Daniel Defoe. 
1663-1731. 

Nobody ever laid down the book of " Robinson Crusoe'^ 
without wishing it longer. — Johnson. 

There exists no work more generally read or more universally 
admired than " Robinson Crusoe." It is difficult to say in 
what the charm consists by which persons of all classes and 
denominations are thus fascinated; yet the majority of readers 
will recollect it as amongst the first works which awakened and 
interested their youthful attention ; and feel even in advanced 
life, and in the maturity of their understanding, that there are 
still associated with "Robinson Crusoe" the sentiments peculiar 
to that period, when all is new, all glittering in prospect, and 
when those visions are most bright which the experience of 
after Hfe tends only to darken and destroy. — Sir W. Scott. 

He is a middle-sized, spare man, about forty years old, of a 
dark complexion and dark-brown coloured hair, but wears a wig, 
a hooked nose, a sharp chin, grey eyes, and a large mole near his 
mouth j was born in London, and for many years was a hose- 
factor in Freeman's-yard, in Cornhill, and is now owner of the 
brick and pantile works near Tilbury Fort in Essex. — Adver- 
tisement accompanying a reward of 50/. for his apprehension^ 
1703. 

"Robinson Crusoe's" manuscript ran through the whole 
trade, nor would any one print it, though the writer, De Foe, 
was in good repute as an author. One bookseller at last, not 



134 



Daniel Defoe. 



remarkable for his discernment, but very much so for his 
speculative turn, engaged in this publication. This bookseller 
got above a thousand guineas by it ; and the booksellers are 
accumulating money every hour by editions of this work in 
all shapes. — /. D'Is7^aeli. 

He was a powerful though unpolished satirist in verse ; was 
master of an admirable prose style ; in his Review "... led 
the way to that class of essay writing, and those dramatic 
sketches of common life and manners, which were afterwards 
so happily perfected by Steele and Addison ; in his Essay on 
Trade" anticipated many of those broad and liberal principles 
which are regarded as modern discoveries ; in his moral essays 
and some of his novels undoubtedly set the example of that 
minute description and perplexing casuistry of which Richardson 
so successfully availed himself ; was among the first to advocate 
the intellectual equality and the necessity of improvements in 
the education of women ; suggested the projects of Savings 
Banks and an Asylum for Idiots ; among other notable services 
and claims to attention, by his thoughts on the best mode of 
lighting and watching the streets of the metropolis, might be 
considered as the author of the modern system of police ; and 
even in party matters, and the heats and rancorous differences 
of jarring sects, generally seized on that point of view which 
displayed most moderation and good sense, and in his favourite 
conclusions and arguments was half a century before his con- 
temporaries, who for that reason made common cause against 
him. — Edmburgh Revieiu^ 1830. 

See where on high stands unabash'd Defoe \—Fope, 
One of those authors (the fellow who was pilloried, I have 
forgot his name) is indeed so grave, sententious, dogmatical a 
rogue, that there is no enduring him. — Swft. 

The charm of De Foe's works, especially " Robinson Crusoe," 
is founded on the same principle. It always interests, never 
agitates. Crusoe himself is merely a representative of humanity 
in general ; neither his intellectual nor his moral qualities set 
him above the middle degree of mankind ; his only prominent 
characteristic is the spirit of enterprise and wandering, which 
is, nevertheless, a very common disposition. You will observe 
that all that is wonderful in this tale is the result of external 
circumstances — of things which fortune brings to Crusoe's 
hands . . . One excellence of De Foe, amongst many, is his 
sacrifice of lesser interest to the greater, because more uni- 



Daniel Defoe — ^Mattheiv Prior , 135 

versal. Had he (as without any improbabiHty he might have 
done) given his "Robinson Crusoe" any of the turn for 
natural history, which forms so striking and dehghtful a feature 
in the equally uneducated Dampier ; — had he made him find 
out qualities and uses in the before (to him) unknown plants 
of the island — discover, for instance, a substitute for hops, or 
describe birds, &c. — many dehghtful pages and incidents 
might have enriched the book ; but then Crusoe would have 
ceased to be the universal representative — the person for 
whom every reader could substitute himself. But now nothing 
is done, thought, suffered, or desired, but what every man can 
imagine himself doing, thinking, feeling, or wishing for. Even 
so very easy a problem as that of finding a substitute for ink 
is with exquisite judgment made to baffle Crusoe's inventive 
faculties. And in what he does, he arrives at no excellence ; 
he does not make basket-work like Will Atkins ; the car- 
pentering, tailoring, pottery, &c., are all just what will answer 
his purposes, and those are confined to needs that all men 
have, and comforts that all men desire. Crusoe rises only to 
the point to which all men may be made to feel that they 
might, and that they ought to, rise in religion — -to resignation, 
dependence on, and thankful acknowledgment of, the Divine 
mercy and goodness. — Cornhill Magazine. 

Matthew Prion 
1664-1721. 
Beloved by every muse. — Gay, 

On the queen's accession to the throne, he was continued irx 
his office : is very well at court with the ministry, and is an 
entire creature of my Lord Jersey's, whom he supports by his 
advice ; is one of the best poets in England, but very factious 
in conversation. A thin, hoUow-looked man, turned of 40 
years old. This is near the truth.— Siv iff s Works. 
Now in equipages stately, now humbly on foot, 
Both fortunes he tried, but to neither would trust ; 
And whirled in the round as the wheel turned about, 
He found riches had wings, and knew man was but dust. 

* Prior. 

His philosophy, his good sense, his happy easy turns and 
melody, his loves and his epicureanism, bear a great resem- 



136 



Matthew Prior. 



blance to that most delightful and accomplished master 
(Horace). — Thackeray, 

I mentioned Lord Hales' censure of Prior in his preface to a 
collection of sacred poems, by various hands, published by him 
at Edinburgh a great many years ago, where he mentions 
These impure tales which will be the eternal opprobrium of 
their ingenious author." Johnson : " Sir, Lord Hales has 
forgot. There is nothing in Prior that will excite to lewdness. 
If Lord Hales thinks there is, he must be more combustible 
than other people." I instanced the tale of " Paulo Purganti 
and his Wife." Johnson : " Sir, there is nothing there but that 
his wife wanted to be kissed, when poor Paulo was out of 
pocket. No, sir. Prior is a lady's book. No lady is ashamed 
to have it standing in her library." — BoswelL 

I have been assured that Prior, after having spent the evening 
with Oxford, Bolingbroke, Pope, and Swift, would go and 
smoke a pipe and drink a bottle of ale with a common 
soldier and his wife in Long Acre, before he went to bed. — 
^ ^ Richardsonia7ia, "^ 

Prior was not unfamiliar with ancient mythology ; but in 
his case familiarity may be said to have bred contempt ; and 
though many classical touches are to be found in his verses, 
yet, in his jocular vein, he too frequently degrades his Venuses 
and Cupids, not less than his Chloes and Silvias. — Edi?iburgh 
Raiew^ 1850. 

It is remarkable that this poet, though he wrote verse with 
singular ease and grace, lost this faculty in prose, especially in 
his familiar letters. The reason might be that he wrote verses 
to please himself, and therefore followed the natural vein ; but 
in writing letters his aim was to please others, and he thought 
he could not do this but by writing in his character of a wit, 
which would of course render his manner constrained, pert, and 
affected. The observation appHes in some degree to Pope 
himself, at least in his early letters to wits and ladies. — Dr. Hurd. 

Matthew Prior, soon after his return from the Court of 



1 '^Tradition," says Dr. Johnson, ''represents him as wilhng to descend 
from the dignity of the poet and the statesman to the low dehghts of mean 
company. His Chloe was probably sometimes ideal ; but the woman with 
whom he cohabited w^as a despicable drab of the lowest species. One of 
his wenches, perhaps Chloe, while he was absent from his house, stole his 
plate and ran away ; as was related by a woman who had been his servant. " — 

Life oj Prior 



Matthew Prior — Sir John Vanbrugh. 



137 



France, where he had been Plenipotentiary, went to Cambridge, 
and paid a visit to the master of St. John's, of which he was a 
Fellow. The master loved Prior's principles ; had a ^ great 
opinion of his abiUties, and a respect for his character m the 
world j but he had much greater respect for himself ; and he 
knew his own dignity too well to suffer a Fellow of his college 
to sit down in his presence. He kept his seat, and left the 
queen's ambassador to stand. Piqued at this, Prior wrote the 
following extempore epigram on the reception he had met with, 
and addressed it to the Master : — 

I stood, sir, patient at your feet, 

Before your elbow chair ; 
But make a bishop's throne your seat, 

I'd kneel before you there. 
One only thing can keep you down, 

For your great soul too mean ; 
You'd not, to mount a bishop's throne. 

Pay homage to the queen. — " Life of Prior J' 

Sir John Vanbrugh. 
1666-1726. 

Van wants grace who never wanted v^\i~Pope. 
He emptied quarries rather than built houses. — Horace 
Walpole, 

There is something so catching to the ear, so easy to the 
memory in all he wrote, that it has been observed by all the 
actors of my time, that the style of no author whatsoever gave 
their memory less trouble than that of Sir John Vanbrugh ; 
which I myself, who have been charged with several of his 
strongest characters, can confirm by a pleasing experience. — 
Colley Cibber, 

He had great originaHty of invention ; he understood light 
and shadow ; and had great skill in composition.— ^S/r Joshua 
Reynolds, 

Alluding to Blenheim, Swift observes— 

• That if his Grace were no more skilled in , 

The art of battering walls than building, 

L We might expect to see next year 

A mouse-trap man chief engineer. 



138 Sir John Vanbrngh — Jonathan Swift. ' 

Such was the opinion entertained by a contemporary wit of 
Vanbrugh's architecture. His comedies, renowned for the well- 
sustained ease and spirit of the dialogue, are to those who 
deem the gratification of curiosity cheaply bought by an 
acquaintance with all that is accounted most licentious, curious 
as pictures of the manners of the times in which they were 
written. — Memoirs of Duchess of Marlborough P 

I'm in with Captain Vanbrugh at the present, 

A most sweet-manner'd gentleman, and pleasant ; 

He writes your comedies, draws schemes and models, 

And builds dukes' houses upon very odd hills. 

For him so much I dote on him, that I 

If I was sure to go to heaven, would die. — N, Roiue, 



Jonathan Swift. 
1667-1745. 

All my endeavours to distinguish myself were only for want 
of a great title and fortune, that I might be used like a lord by 
those who have an opinion of my parts. — Swift, 

The most unhappy man on earth. — Dr. King. 

Young man, you will never be a poet. — Dryden. 

I remember, as I and others were taking with Swift an even- 
ing walk, about a mile out of Dublin, he stopped short ; we 
passed on ; but perceiving he did not follow us, I went back 
and found him fixed as a statue, and earnestly gazing upwards 
at a noble tree which, in its upper branches, was much withered 
and decayed. Pointing at it, he said, I shall be like that 
tree ; I shall die atop." — Dr. Young. 

His praise assumed the appearance and language of com- 
plaint j his benefits were often prefaced by a prologue of a 
threatening nature ; his most grave themes were blended with 
ironical pleasantry ; and, in those of a lighter nature, deep and 
bitter satire is often concealed under the most trifling levity. — 
Sir JK Scott. 

Swift is clear, but shallow. In coarse humour he is inferior 
to Arbuthnot 3 in delicate humour he is inferior to Addison. 
So he is inferior to his contemporaries, without putting him 
against the whole world. — Johnson. 

The character of his life will appear like that of his writings ; 



Jonathan Swift 



139 



they will both bear to be reconsidered and re-examined with the 
utmost attention, and always discover new beauties and excel- 
lence upon every examination. — Delany, 

What pleas'd before in Swift we now detest j 

Proscrib'd not only in the world polite, 

But ev'n too nasty for a city knight. — Byron, 

No one could be an ill-tempered man who wrote so much non- 
sense as Swift did. — C, J. Fox, 

He m.oves laughter, but never joins in it. He appears in 
his works such as he appears in society. All the company are 
convulsed with merriment, while the Dean, the author of all 
the mirth, preserves an invincible gravity and even sourness of 
aspect, and gives utterance to the most eccentric and ludicrous 
fancies with the air of a man reading the Commination Service. 
— Macaiday, 

An immense genius ; an awful downfall and ruin. So great 
a man he seems to me, that thinking of him is like thinking of 
an empire falling. — Thackeray} 



^ Has not Mr. Thackeray (v/itli the highest respect and reverence for 
that great man be it spoken) mistaken or exaggerated certain prominent 
points in Swift's character? Swift's "Modest Proposal," for instance, is 
interpreted by him into damnatory evidence of Swift's infamous character. 
" Could Dick Steele, or Goldsmith, or Fielding," he inquires, " in his most 
reckless moment of satire, have written anything like the Dean's famous 
' Modest Proposal' for eating children ? Not one of these but melts at the 
thoughts of childhood, fondles and caresses it." But we are not surely to 
accept this "Modest Proposal" but as an exquisitely grave piece of irony, 
which no more convicts the Dean of a bad heart, than Thackeray's devilish 
bad women and imbecile good women convict him as a woman-hater. 
Swift might have loved children, and yet made the proposal. It was the 
wisest man of his age who wrote an elaborate treatise in praise of folly. 
Could Steele or Goldsmith or Fielding have written "The Proposal?" 
This is surely idle. Could Steele have written "Jonathan Wild?" Could 
Goldsmith have written the character of Atossa or Sporus? Could 
Fielding have written the reasons for not abolishing Christianity ? Could 
Swift have written "Tom Jones?" Another instance: It w^as Swift's 
custom to read prayers in the utmost secresy to his household. " There 
was no need," says Thackeray, "surely, why a Church dignitary should 
assemble his private family in a crypt, as if he was afraid of heathen per- 
secution." But whoever rightly understands the Dean's character will 
understand the need. Johnson, Swift's bitterest enemy, allows that the 
Dean represented himself as infinitely worse than he was, from* dread of 
being thought a hypocrite. His secresy in reading prayers was to prevent 
his guests from witnessing his piety ; they would charge him with hypocrisy, 
he thought ; for how were they to reconcile his writings with his devotions 



140 



Jonathan Swift. 



He assumed more the air of a patron than a friend ; he dic^ 
tated rather than advised. With all this there was the greatest 
possible value set by Swift upon his own person. He was 
elated with the appearance of enjoying ministerial confidence. 
He enjoyed the shadow whilst the substance was withheld 
from him. He was employed, not trusted, and at the same time 
he imagined himself a subtle diver, who dexterously shot down 
into the profoundest region of politics. He was suffered only 
to sound the shallows near the shore, and was scarce 
permitted to descend below the froth at the top. Perhaps 
the deeper bottom was too muddy for his inspection. — Lord 
Orrery. 

Whoever reads Swift a second time laughs more heartily at 
him than on the first perusal. At least I do. He represents 
the mass of mankind just what it is in respect to its rationality. 
How superstitious and grovelling is its spirit ! It was an ad- 
mirable hit at the prevalent superstition of burying the dead 
east and west, to propose burying them with their heads down- 
wards. — T. Campbell . 

Let Ireland tell how wit upheld her cause. 
Her trade supported and supplied her laws ; 
And leave on Swift this grateful verse engrav'd, 
*^The rights a court attack'd, a poet sav'd." 
Behold the hand that wrought a nation's cure, 
Stretch'd to relieve the idiot and the poor ; 
Proud vice to brand, or injur'd worth adorn. 
And stretch the rays to ages yet unborn. — Pope. 

Aniina Rahelasii habitans in sicco. — Coleridge. 

The most agreeable companion, the truest friend, and the 
greatest genius of his age. — Addison. 

The termination, of Swift's career- — the retributive justice, 
which, if we believed in spirits, poor Stella's ghost might have 
witnessed — the joyless close of an existence wliich no affectionate 
cares sought to cheer ; the consignment of the wretched and 
violent lunatic to servants and keepers ; the moody silence of 
the once eloquent and witty ornament of courtly saloons ; the 



without concluding him to be a hypocrite ? All Swift's biographers approv- 
ingly record this secresy in devotion. They knew his hatred of hypocrisy, 
they recognised his method of obviating the charge he dreaded, and com- 
mended the piety so scrupulously concealed and so unremittingly practised. — 
Ed. 



I Jonathan Swift, 141 

deep despair to which medicine could not minister, but which 
a moral influence might have alleviated, but which no son nor 
daughter's tender perseverance, with untaught, but often perhaps 
eflectual skill, sought to solace : these, with all other gloomy 
particulars of Swift's awful aberrations and death, on which not 
one light of consciousness was shown, must be by all remem- 
bered. — " Life of the Duchess of Marlboroicgh!' 

Several in their books have many sarcastical and spiteful 
strokes at religion in general ; while others make themselves 
pleasant with the principles of the Christian. Of the last kind 
this age has seen a most audacious example in the work 
entitled " A Tale of a Tub." Had this writing been published 
in a pagan or popish nation, who are justly impatient of all in- 
dignity offered to the established religion of their country, no 
doubt but the author would have received the punishment he 
deserved. But the fate of this impious buffoon is very dif- 
ferent ; for in a Protestant kingdom, zealous of their civil and 
religious immunities, he has not only escaped affronts and the 
effects of public resentment, but has been caressed and 
patronized by persons of great figure and of all denominations.— 
Sir Richard Blackmore} 

When Swift is considered as an author, it is just to estimate 
his powers by their effects. In the reign of Queen Anne he 
turned the stream of popularity against the Whigs, and must be 
confessed to have dictated for a time the political opinions of 
the English nation. In the succeeding reign he delivered 
Ireland from plunder and oppression ; and showed that wit, 
confederated with truth, had such force as authority was unable 
to resist. He said truly of himself that Ireland was his debtor. 
It was from the time when he first began to patronize the Irish 
that they may date their riches and prosperity. He taught 
them first to know their own interest, their weight, and their 
strength, and gave them spirit to assert that equahty with their 
fellow-subjects to which they have ever since been making 
vigorous advances, and to claim those rights which they have 
at last estabhshed. Nor can they be charged with ingratitude 



^ It is said that Dr. Sacheverel meeting Smallridge attempted to flatter 
him by seeming to think him the author of the "Tale of a Tub." But 
Smallridge replied with indignation, "Not that all you and I have in the 
world, nor all that we ever shall have, should hire me to write the * Tale 
of a Tub.' "—Ed. 



142, Jonathan Swift — William W his ton. 



to their benefactor ; for they reverenced him as a guardian, and 
obeyed him as a dictator.- — D7\ Johnson, 

William Whiston. ' 

1667-1752, 

Who travels in religious jars 

(Truth mix'd with error, shades with rays), 
Like Whiston, wanting pyx or stars, 

In ocean wide or sinks or strays. — Be?tfley, 

That good, but weak man, old Mr. Whiston, whom I 

have seen distributing in the streets, money to beggars on each 
hand of him, till his pocket was nearly exhausted. — Hawkins. 

Mr. Whiston was one of the first divines who revived this 
controversy (/>., the doctrine of the Trinity) in the eighteenth 
century. About the year 1706, he began to entertain some 
doubts about the proper eternity and omniscience of Christ. 
This led him to review the popular doctrine of the Trinity, and 
in order to execute this review with a degree of diligence and 
circumspection suitable to its importance, he read the New 
Testament twice over, and also all the ancient genuine monu- 
ments of the Christian religion, till near the conclusion of the 
second century. By this inquiry he was led to think that at 
the incarnation of Christ the Logos or eternal wisdom supplied 
the place of the rational soul or izvev^a — that the eternity of the 
Son of God was not a real distinct existence as of a Son pro- 
perly co-eternal with His Father by a true eternal generation, 
but rather a metaphysical existence in potentia^ or in some sub- 
limer manner in the Father, as His wisdom or word ; that 
Christ's real creation or generation (for both these terms are 
used by the earher writers) took place some time before the 
creation of the world ; — that the Council of Nice itself established 
no other eternity of Christ ; — and finally, that the Arian doc- 
trine on these points was the original doctrine of Christ himself, 
of His holy Apostles, and of the primitive Christians. — Dr, 
Madame. 

A name become almost proverbial for downright honesty and 
sincerity, deaf to all the cautions of worldly prudence, — for a 
childlike simplicity in the ways of men, combined with a clear 
intuition into the depths of abstract science. — Lucy Aikin, 



1 William Wkiston— William Congreve. 143 

Who proved, as sure as God's in Gloster, 
' That Moses was a grand impostor.— 

Poor Whiston believed in everything but the Trinity.— 
' Macatilay. 

"Wicked Will Whiston.'' This epithet, bestowed playfully 
upon Whiston by Swift, in ridicule of his sanctimony, would 
almost seem to have been seriously justified by his general bad 
faith in scattering injurious anecdotes about everybody who 
refused to fall in with his follies. His excuse lies in the extreme 
weakness of his brain. Think of a man, who had brilliant pre- 
I ferment within his reach, dragging his poor wife and daughter 
i for half a century through the very mire of despondency and 
destitution, because he disapproved of Athanasius, or because 
the " Shepherd of Hernias" was not sufficiently esteemed by the 
Church of England ! Unhappy is that family over which a fool 
i presides. The secret of all Whiston's lunacies m.ay be found in 
that sentence of his Autobiography, where he betrays the fact 
of his liability, from youth upwards, to flatulency. What he 
mistook for conscience was flatulence, which others (it is well 
known) have mistaken for inspiration. This was his original 
misfortune ; his second was, that he lived before the age of 
powerful drastic journals. Had he been contemporary with 
Christopher North, the knout would have brought him to his 
senses, and extorted the gratitude of Mrs. Whiston and her 
children. — Blackwood's Magazine^ i S 3 3 ; 

Had Mr. Whiston's researches been confined within the 
bounds of Ramus or Crackanthorp, that learned news-monger 
might have acquiesc'd in what the holy oracles pronounce upon 
the Deluge, Hke other Christians. — yohn Heiiley, 

He was a pious and learned man, who, although he was 
denied the Sacrament, did not sufi'er himself to be driven out 
I of the Church of England till 1747. At last he established a 
I small congregation in his own house, in accordance with his 
own notion of primitive Christianity. — Hen7j Morley. 

William Congreve. 
1670-1729. 

Mirabel, the fine gentleman of the play ("Way of the 
World") is, I beheve, not very distant from the real character 
of Congreve. — Tom Davies. 



144 William Congreve. 

A touch of Steele's tenderness is worth all his finery ; a flash 
of Swift's lightning, — a beam of Addison's pure sunshine, and 
his tawdry play-house taper is invisible. But the ladies loved 
him, and he was undoubtedly a pretty fellow. — Thackei^ay. 

His scenes exhibit not much of humour, imagery, or passion ; 
his personages are a kind of intellectual gladiators; every 
sentence is to ward or strike. His comedies have therefore in 
some degree the operation of tragedies ; they surprise rather 
than divert, and raise admiration rather than merriment. But 
they are the works of a mind replete with images and quick in 
combinations. — Johnson. 

The wit of Congreve far outshines that of every comic 
writer, except Sheridan, who has arisen within the last two 
centuries. — Macau lay. 

What plays ! what wit ! Helas ! Congreve and Vanbrugh 
are your only comedy. Our society is too insipid now for the 
like copy. — By7'on. 

The great art of Congreve is shown in this, that he has 
entirely excluded from his scenes — some little generosities on 
the part of Angelica perhaps excepted — not only anything like 
a faultless character, but any pretensions to goodness or good 
feelings whatever. Whether he did this designedly or in- 
stinctively, the effect is as happy as the design (if design) was 
bold. I used to wonder at the strange power which his " Way 
of the World" in particular possesses of interesting you all 
along in the pursuits of characters for whom you absolutely 
care nothing — for you neither hate nor love his personages — 
and I think it is owing to this very indifference to any that you 
endure the whole. He has spread a privation of moral light, 
I will call it, rather than by the ugly name of palpable darkness, 
over his creations, and his shadows flit before you without 
distinction or preference. Had he introduced a good character, 
a single gush of moral feeling, a revulsion of the judgment to 
actual life and actual duties, the impertinent Goshen would 
have only lighted to the discovery of deformities, which now 
are none, because we think them none. — Lamb. 

I never knew anybody that had so much wit as Congreve. — 
Lady M. W. Montagu. 

But since, like you, no youth could please, 
Nor at his first attempt boast such success ; 
Where all mankind have fail'd, you glories won ; 



William Congreve. 



145 



r Triumphant are in this alone, 

In this, have all the bards of old outdone. — Yalden? 

In him all beauties of this age we see, ^ 

Etheredge's courtship, Southerne's purity, 

The satire, wit, and strength of manly Wycherley. 

Dryden, 

Congreve ! whose fancy's unexhausted store 
Has given already much, and promised more,. 
Congreve shall still preserve thy name alive. 
And Dryden's muse shall in his friend survive. 

Addison. 

As tuneful Congreve tries his rural strains. 

Pan quits the woods, the list'ning Fauns the plains. 

And Philomel in notes like his complains. — -Garth. 

Friendly Congreve, unreproachful man. — Gay. 

\ From a rapid survey of his life and character he seems to 
have been one of those indifferent children of the earth whom 
the world cannot hate ; who are neither too good nor too bad 
for the present state of existence, and who may fairly expect 
their portion here. The darkest — at least the most enduring 
stain on his memory is the immorality of his writings ; but 
this was the vice of the time, and his comedies are con- 
siderably more decorous than those of his predecessors. 
They are too cold to be mischievous; they keep the brain 
in too incessant action to allow the passions to kindle. For 
those who search into the powers of intellect, the combinations 
of thought which may be produced by volition, the plays of 
Congreve may form a profitable study. But their time is fled — 
on the stage they will be received no more ; and of the 
devotees of light reading, such as could read them without dis- 



^ Yaldeii (born 1671) is one of some dozen versifiers whose names, but 
not their verses, have been perpetuated by their admission into Johnson's 

Lives of the Poets." He was the friend of Sacheverel and Addison, 
and succeeded Atterbury as preacher at Bridewell Hospital (1713). In 
spite of the wretchedness of his poetry he was charged with plagiarism 
from Congreve. He died July 16, 1736. Johnson has epitomized his 
merits and defects in his usual periods : "Of his other poems it is sufficient 
to say that they deserve perusal, though they are not exactly polished, 
though the rhymes are sometimes veiy ill-sorted, and though his faults 
seem rather the omission of idleness than the negligence of enthusiasm." — 
Ed. 

L 



146 William Congreve — Earl of Shaftesbury, 



gust, would probably peruse them with little pleasure.— 

Coleridge, 

He quitted the stage early, and Comedy left it with him. — 
^ohn Deiinis. 

Wickedness is no subject for comedy; to forget this was 
Congreve's great error, and almost peculiar to him. — S. T. 

Coleridge. 

Instead of endeavouring to raise a vain monument to my- 
self, let me leave behind me a memorial of my friendship with 
one of the most valuable men as well as finest writers of my 
age and country — one who has tried, and knows by his own ] 
experience, how hard an undertaking it is to do justice to 
Homer — and one who, I am sure, seriously rejoices with me at 
the period of my labours. To him therefore, having brought 
this long work to a conclusion, I desire to dedicate it, and to 
have the honour and satisfaction of placing together in this 
manner the names of Mr. Congreve and of — A. Pope. — Post- 
script to Translation of the " Iliad^^ of Horner^ 1720. 

Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury. ^ 
1671--1713. " 

His health was delicate ; his taste was refined even to 
fastidiousness ; he soon left pohtics to men whose bodies and 
minds were of coarser texture than his own ; gave himself up 
to more intellectual luxury ; lost himself in the mazes of the old 
academic philosophy, and aspired to the glory of reviving the 
old academic eloquence. His diction, affected and florid, but 
often singularly beautiful and melodious, fascinated many 
young enthusiasts. He had not merely disciples, but wor- 
shippers. His life was short ; but he lived long enough to 
become the founder of a new set of free-thinkers, diametrically 
opposed in opinions and feelings to that sect of free-thinkers 
of which Hobbes was the oracle. During many years The 
Characteristics" continued to be the Gospel of romantic and 
sentimental unbelievers, while the Gospel of cold-blooded and 
hard-headed unbelievers was the " Leviathan." — Macaulay, 

His end gave neither sorrow to his friends nor joy to his 
enemies. His furious temper, notwithstanding his capacity, 
had done great injury to the cause in which he was engaged. 
The violence and iniquities which he suggested and encouragec 



Earl of Shaftesbury — Sir Richard Steele. 147 

' were greater than even faction itself could endure ; and men 
could not forbear sometimes recollecting that the same person 
who had become so zealous a patriot was once a most prosti- 
tute courtier. — Hume. 

If Shaftesbury had lived to see the candour and moderation 
of present times in discovering religious subjects^ he would 
have been a good Christian. — Bishop Butler. 

Lord Shaftesbury, like all other eminent innovators, has 
been misrepresented both by his friends and his enemies. Dr. 
Leland has steered a middle course, between the blind enthu- 
siasm of the former and the partial malignancy of the latter. 

* He points out with singular penetration and judgment the 
errors, inconsistencies, and contradictions of that illustrious 
author ; does justice to what is good in his writings ; separates 
carefully the Vvdieat from the chaff ; and neither condemns nor 
approves in the lump, as so many have done. — Dr. Maclaiiie. 

He was as to religion a deist at best ; he had the dotage of 
astrology in him to a high degree ; he told me that a Dutch 
Doctor had from the stars foretold him the whole series of his 
life. But that which was before him when he told me this 
proved false, if he told me true ; for he said he was yet to be a 
greater man than he had been. He fancied that after death 
our souls lived in stars. — Bur7iet. 

. You say you cannot understand how Lord Shaftesbury came 
to be a philosopher in vogue : I will tell you ; first, he w^as a 
lord j secondly, he was as vain as any of his readers ; thirdly, 
men are very prone to believe what they do not understand ; 
fourthly, they will believe anything at all, provided they are 
under no obligation to believe it ; fifthly, they love to take a 
new road, even when that road leads nowhere ; sixthly, he was 
reckoned a fine writer, and seems always to mean more than he 
. said. Would you have any more reasons ? An interval of 
above forty years has pretty well destroyed the charm. A dead 
lord ranks with commoners ; vanity is no longer interested in 
the matter; for a new road has become an old one. — Gray. 

Sir Richard Steele. 
i67i=-i729. 

Sir Richard Steele was the best-natured creature in the 
w^orld : even in his worst state of health he seemed to desire 
nothing but to please and be pleased.—Z^r. Young. 

L 3 



148 Sir Richard Steele. \ 

He is of a middle stature, broad shoulders, thick legs, a 
shape like the picture of somebody over a farmer's chimney — a 
short chin, a short nose, a short forehead, a broad, flat face, 
and a dusky countenance. Yet with such a shape and such a 
face, he discovered at sixty that he took himself for a beauty, 
and appeared to be more mortified at being told that he was 
ugly than he was by any reflection made upon his honour 
or understanding. — y^oh?i Dennis. 

The great charm of Steele's writing is its naturalness. He 
wTOte so quickly and carelessly that he was forced to make 
the reader his confidant, and had not the time to deceive him. 
He had a small share of book-learning, but a vast acquaintance 
with the world. — Thackeray. 

His sympathies were with all England. Defoe and he, with 
eyes upon the future, were the truest leaders of their time. It 
was the firm hand of his friend Steele that helped Addison up 
to the place in literature that became him. — Morley. 

His temper was sweet, his affections warm, his spirits lively, 
his passions strong, and his principles weak. His life was 
spent in sinning and repenting ; in inculcating what was right, 
and in doing what was wrong. In speculation he was a man 
of piety and honour ; in practice he was much of the rake, 
and a little of the swindler. — Macaiday. 

Sir Richard Steele was a very good-natured man, and Dr. 
Garth a very worthy one. — Lady M. TV. Mo?itagu. 

Steele, with considerable humour, had still more power in the 
pathetic ; not indeed that of the buskin, but of every-day life ; 
hence his short narratives of domestic circumstances, often 
conveyed in imaginary letters, which have much of this quality, 
were doubtless amongst the most attractive portions of the 

Tatler" on its first appearance. In fact, notwithstanding a 
considerable alloy of what must now be reckoned for dross 
and refuse — coarseness of idea and bluntness of expression — 
they still interest ; and in good part by virtue of the liberal, 
the humane, and the generous sentiment which they seldom 
fail to inculcate, and which evidently came from the heart. — 
Lticy Aikin. 

His natural disposition was amiable, but so incautious that 
his famous parallel between Addison and himself must be 
equally admired for its candour and its truth. " The one," 
says Steele, speaking of his friend " with patience, foresight, 
and temperate address, always waited and stemm.ed the 



Sir Richard Steele, 



149 



torrent j while the other often plunged himself into it, and was 
often taken out by the temper of him who stood weeping on 
the bank for his safety, whom he could not dissuade from 
leaping into it." This beautiful description of true friendship 
is indeed characteristic of him who found it inconvenient to 
have written the "Christian Hero" from the comparisons 
between his practice and his precepts which were incessantly 
drawn by his associates. Steele had all the brilliancy, and 
many of the failings of his brilliant countrymen.^ That his 
mind was never debased by the irregular pursuits and dissolute 
society to which he gave his time, is apparent from the beautiful 
sentiments which pervade that exquisite comedy, the "Con- 
scious Lovers," one of the most elegant delineations of that 
species of love which borders on romance in the range of our 
dramatic littxditmQ.— ' Me7?ioirs of Sarah, Duchess of Marl- 
borough,^^ 

We knew the obligations the stage had to his writings ; 
there being scarcely a comedian of merit in our whole company 
whom his " Tatlers" had not made better by his recommenda- 
tion of them. — Colley Cibber. 



^ Steele was a man of great benevolence, which unfortunately was 
rendered unserviceable to his friends by his bad memory. Under his own 
reputation of kind-heartedness he made his friends minister to his wants ; 
they talked loudly of his benevolence ; but when they came to inquire of 
each other they found that each man was a creditor ; that no one had 
received anything from Steele, while Steele had been borrowing from all. 
I am very much afraid that Steele was a quack. He humbugged his two 
wives, and he humbugged his hundred creditors. I am not quite sure that 
h-e did not humbug Addison. He could hardly help respecting his talents ; 
but honest admiration or generous affection does not as a rule induce so 
much obsequiousness as we find in Steele's conduct to Addison ; at least it 
could be wished that the services rendered by Addison to Sir Richard had 
been less important, and that Sir Richard had not found Addison quite so 
necessary to him. Steele was a man of good resolutions and of bad 
practices. He would write a treatise against drinking, and leave his task 
unfinished whilst he got drunk with his friend at an alehouse, or be found 
asleep in his arm-chair with two empty bottles beside him. He would write 
a pamphlet on the efficacy of faith, the value of religious observances, and 
would abandon piety and church-going, until the restraint of the bailiffs or 
the emptiness of his purse gave him leisure to meditate fresh schemes of 
virtue. He was a man who was liberal only in the security of having 
nothing to give. — Ed. 



ISO 



Colley Gibber. 
1671-1757. 

Gibber, with a great stock of levity, vanity, and affectation 
had sense, and wit, and humour. — Warton, 

His treatise on the stage is inimitable; where an author 
writes on his own profession, feels it profoundly, and is sensible 
his readers do not, he is not only excusable, but meritorious, 
for illuminating the subject by new metaphors or bolder figures 
than ordinary. — Walpole. 

Colley Gibber, sir, was by no means a blockhead ; but by 
arrogating to himself too much he was in danger of losing that 
degree of estimation to which he was entitled. His friends 
gave out that he intended his birthday odes should be bad ; but 
that was not the case, sir \ for he kept them many months by 
him, and a few years before he died he showed me one of 
them, with great solicitude to render it as perfect as might be, 
and I made some corrections, to which he was not very willing 
to submit. I remember the following couplet in allusion to the 
king and himself : — 

Perch'd on the eagle's soaring wing, 
The lonely linnet loves to sing.^ 

Sir, he had heard something of the fabulous tale of the wren 
sitting upon the eagle's wing, and he had applied it to a linnet 
Gibber's familiar style, however, was better than that which 
Whitehead assumed. G?^and nonsense is insupportable. — 
"j^ohnson. 

Golley, we are told, had the honour to be a member of the 
gi-eat club at White's j and so, I suppose, might any other man 
w^ho wore good clothes and paid his money when he lost it. 
But on what terms did Gibber live with this society? Why, he 
feasted most sumptuously, as I have heard his friend Victor 
say, with an air of triumphant exultation, with Mr. Arthur and 
his wife, and gave a trifle for his dinner. After he had dined, 
when the club-room door was opened, and the Laureate was 



1 Gibber introduces the image of a wren in an epilogue after his version 
of King John : — 

He's but the wren that mounts on Shakspeare's wings, 
Where, while the eagle soars, he safely sings. —Ed. 



1 



Colley Cibber— Ambrose Phillips. 



introduced, he was saluted with a loud and joyous acclamation 
of O King Coll 1 Come in, King Coll !" and ''Welcome, wel- 
come, King Colley !" and this kind of gratulation, Mr. Victor 
thought, was very gracious and very honourable.— Z>az^/^i*, 
Life of Garrick:\ 

He flourished in wig and embroidery, player, poet, and 
manager, during the Augustan age of Queen Anne, somewhat 
earlier and somewhat later. A most egregious fop, according 
to all accounts he was, but a very pleasant one notwithstanding, 
as your fop of parts is apt to be. Pope gained but little in the 
war he waged with him, for this plain reason, that the great 
poet accuses his adversary of dulness, which was not by any 
means one of his sins, instead of selecting one of the numerous 
faults, such as pertness, petulance, and presumption of which he 
was really guilty. — M» R. Mitford, 

Ambrose Phillips. 
1671-1749. 

A serious and dreary idyllic cockney. — Thackeray. 

A good Whig and a middling poet, who had the honour of 
bringing into fashion a species of composition which has been 
called^ after his name, " Namby Pamby." — Macaiilay 

Of his personal character all that I have heard is, that he 
was eminent for bravery and skill in the sword, and that in 
conversation he was solemn and pompous. He had great 
sensibility of censure, if judgment may be made by a single 
story which I heard long ago from Mr. Ing, a gentleman of 
great eminence in Staffordshire. " Phillips" said he, "was once 
at a table when I aked him. How came thy King of Epirus 
to drive oxen, and to say, ' I'm goaded on by love ?' After 
which question he never spoke again." — yohnson. 

When Phillips came forth as starch as a Quaker, 
Whose simple profession's a pastoral maker, 
Apollo advised him from playhouse to keep, 
And pipe to naught else but his dog and his sheep. 

Duke of Buckingham. 

Phillips was a neat dresser, and very vain. In a conversa- 
tion between him, Congreve, Swift, and others, the discourse 



1 By Pope, See Johnson's ''Life of Phillips."— Ed. 



152 Ambrose Phillips — Dr, Sacheverel 



turned on Julius Caesar. Ambrose asked him, what sort of a 
person Julius Ceesar had ? He was assured that from medals, 
&c., it appeared that he was a small man, and . thin-faced. 
" Now, for my part," said PhilHps, I should take him to have , 
been of a lean make, pale complexion, extremely neat in his 
dress, and five feet seven inches high." This happened to be 
an exact description of Phillips himself. Swift, who under- 
stood good breeding perfectly well, and would not interrupt 
anyone while speaking, let him go on ; and when he had done 
said, ^'And I, Mr. Phillips, should take Caesar to have 
been a plump man, just five feet five inches high; not very 
neatly dressed, in a black gown with pudding sleeves." — Percy 
Anecdotes,^^ 

Dr. Sacheverel. 
1672-1724. 

States to embroil and faction to display, 
In wild harangues, Sacheverel led the way. 

P. Dodsley, 

A divine of very little moral character and no great abilities. 
.... who, a renegade from Whiggism which had not been profit- 
able to him, was now a violent Tory, with a better prospect of 
gain. — Wright. 

The Sentinel 

Who loudest rang his 'larum pulpit-bell. — Wordsworth, 

We meet with a low, grovelling nonsense in every Grub- 
street production ; but I think there are none of our present 
writers who have hit the sublime in nonsense besides Dr. 
Sacheverel in divinity. — Addison. 

The trumpeter of sedition — Ctmningham. 

It is difficult to say which is most worthy of ridicule — the 
ministry, in arming all the powers of government in their attack 
upon an obscure individual, or the public in supporting a cul- 
prit whose doctrine was more odious than his insolence, and 
his principles yet more contemptible than his parts. — Mrs, 
Macatclay, 

This brawling priest attacked Godolphin in the pulpit by 
the name of Volpone; inveighed against Burnet and other 
Bishops for not unfurling the bloody flag against Dissent ; 
abused the Revolution as unrighteous j and broadly re-asserted 



Dr, Sacheverel— Joseph Addison, 



153 



non-resistance and passive obedience. The man was such a 
fool and madman that a serious thought should not have been 
wasted on him, whatever might be needful to discountenance 
his atrocious AocinnQS.—Edmbtcrgh Review^ 1845. 

Joseph Addison/ 
1672-1719. 

A parson in a tye-wig.- — Dr. Mandeville. 
The style of Addison is adorned by the female graces of 
elegance and mildness. — Gibbo?i. 

Mr. Addison to be sure was a great man ; his learning was 



^ If we are to judge of Addison by what he has written we must pronounce 
him one of the most virtuous men that ever lived. He made all that he 
wrote luminous with piety and fragrant with virtue. Writing in a day 
when blasphemy was accounted a high kind of wit, and obscenity a high 
kind of humour, he has transmitted almost nothing to which the most rigid 
female purist of our own most moral epoch could make the smallest ex- 
ception. You will appreciate the amazing vigour of his mind which 
enabled him to leap so effectually and so far from the gutter in which the 
turgid and noisome dialect of that era flowed into the sewers, by comparing 
him with his contemporaries. Swift, who was exceptionally bad, may be 
omitted ; but compare him with Wycherley, Congreve, Gay, Garth, Prior, 
Dryden (who was still recent), and the noble rhymesters, such as Buckingham, 
Halifax, and Granville. When, however, we turn to his personal character 
the result of our inspection will not be found so satisfactory. He was pos- 
sessed of qualities which in a smaller man must have been held up to ridi- 
cule and contempt. Those who call him proud forget that he was sometimes 
obsequious ; those who call him modest forget that he was an egotist ; those 
who call him noble as a man forget that he was treacherous as a friend and 
cowardly as an enemy. He was certainly selfish; he was certainly mean. 
He was cautiously solicitous to serve his owm ends, and cautiously solicitous 
to defeat the ends of others. As a writer he was the purest that ever took 
pen in hand; as a man he was among the most insidious that ever sapped 
the hopes of those whom he seemed to caress. 

The famous character of Attiats, admired as perhaps the finest illustra- 
[ tion of Pope's extraordinary genius, has been attributed to the misanthropy 
that in the " Dunciad " attacked the innocent, the helpless, and the guilty 
with indiscriminating acrimony. The testimony of Pope has been disputed. 
That Pope was venomous ; that he often attacked from sheer love of mis- 
chief and of giving pain ; that, embittered by his physical helplessness and 
harassed by his deformities, he recriminated the insults of brutal Dennis 
and his dull cojtfreres, by having a shot at eveiy one who came within reach 
of his powder, cannot be denied. Yet Pope was capable of much honest 
feeling. His affection for Gay, his attachment to Arbuthnot, his admira- 
tion and friendship for Swift, were sincere ; and equally sincere was his 
respect for Addison. He was anxious for Addison's friendship; and he 



Joseph Addison, 



not profound ; but his morality, his humour, and his elegance 
of writing set him very high. — yohnson. 

Give days and nights, Sir, to the study of Addison, if you 
mean either to be a good writer, or, what is more worth, an 
honest man. — Ibid. 

He was above all men in that talent called humour, and 



proved his friendly feelings towards Addison by the only means perhaps 
that then lay in his power : he warmly praised him in rhyme. An oppor- 
tunity, however, presented itself later, which enabled him, as he hoped, of 
imparting to Addison a higher idea of his friendly feelings than even his 
remarks in the "Essay on Medals" afforded. In the year 1699, Addison 
obtained, through the influence of a man whose attention he had very sedu- 
lously courted, a pension of three hundred pounds a year, which was con- 
ferred to enable him to prosecute his studies abroad. During his absence 
from England he wrote, in conjunction with other performances, four acts of 
his tragedy of " Cato." This incompleted tragedy on his return was shown 
to Pope, who warmly praised it. Addison was entreated to finish it ; but 
he resolutely declined to do so, alleging perhaps loss of interest in the 
fiction. The admiration and entreaties of his friends, with Pope at their 
head, so far prevailed that he called to his aid Hughes, one of the few 
slaves of his little court, an author whose "Siege of Damascus" main- 
tained its popularity for many years, but whose turgid heroics are now 
unreadable, and desired him to write a fifth act for " Cato." Hughes 
complied, laboured with friendly zeal, and had nearly completed the task 
when to his mortification he learned that Addison had finished the work 
himself. With his usual care to procure the revisal of competent critics, 
Addison submitted the play to Pope, who suggested several valuable 
alterations, and supplied a prologue. "Cato" was produced ; the house 
was packed with politicians, who applauded every line. "Cato" was 
printed, and John Dennis got hold of it. Dennis was a literary cannibal, 
of vigorous but coarse parts, whose greatest enjoyment was an author who, 
like Addison, had been rendered fat and juicy by the lavish pampering of 
the public. Sharpening his knife, Dennis fell with ridiculous relish to the 
chaste and classical repast of "Cato." Pope, mortified to see his friend 
ill-treated, published "A Narrative of the Madness of John Dennis," a 
lampoon of which the sole merit is that it furnishes a testimony to Pope's 
esteem of Addison. But Addison was envious of Pope ; the reputation of 
"The Crooked-backed Papist" was seriously distancing the reputation of 
the author of " The Campaign." Joseph's disingenuous efforts to obstruct 
Pope's fame had failed; and with the natural resentment of a man who has 
tried to injure his friend, he coldly objected to Pope's interference, and, 
through his servant Steele, sent an apology to Dennis for a lampoon which, 
he said, he had no hand in. Now in what Pope had done there was cer- 
tainly no hypocrisy. His zeal might be objectionable ; but his intentions 
could not be doubted. All that Pope had to gain by his admiration or his 
protection was Addison's friendship. This Addison refused, but not osten- 
sibly. Still seeming to be on good tenns with the little man, he sought to 
injure him in a dozen different ways. He incited Ambrose Phillips to 
charge him vfith disaffection to the government— a charge sufficiently serious 



Joseph A ddisoiu 



155 



enjoyed it in such perfection that I have often reflected, after 
a night spent with him, that I had had the pleasure of con- 
versing with an intimate of Terence and Catulhis, who had all 
their wit and nature, heightened with humour more exquisite 
and delightful than any other man ever possessed,— >5/r i?. 
Steele, 



when the political attitude of the Roman Catholics in those times is recalled ; 
he cautioned Lady Mary Wortley Montagu against him as a man who 
would certainly play her ladyship some devilish trick if she was not careful; 
he caused Tickell to print a translation of Homer (of which he was said to 
be the real author) at the moment when Pope's version was appearing, 
■promising Tickell his influence to promote its circulation above his rival's ; 
and he paid a hack ten guineas to publish some lying scandals against him. 
Pope might have refused at first to hear the rumours which his friends took 
care to whisper to him ; when the tmth at last became clear he sent Mr. 
Addison a few lines of poetry, which, to use Pope's remark, made ' ' Mr, 
Addison treat him very civilly ever after." 

Of Addison's consistent insincerity towards his friends there can be no 
doubt. It seems certain that to Addison, Steele must always have ap- 
peared the best friend and warmest admirer any man ever had. How did 
Joseph treat Sir Richard? Steele had one day incautiously borrowed a 
hundred pounds from Addison. The two men were on terms of the most 
intimate friendship ; they had been schoolboys together; they were endeared 
by the pleasantest associations which this life has to offer for the support 
and confirmation of friendship in after years. Steele we may suppose 
borrowed the hundred pounds without reflecting that Addison would de- 
mand repayment, or should repayment be demanded, he Avas doubtless 
prepared to discharge his debt by the degrees his resources admitted. 
Addison, however, before long demanded the money; Steele was not in a 
position to refund it. Without the smallest hesitation, Mr. Addison put 
an execution in Sir Richard's house, sold the furniture, and having pocketed 
his loan, to which he might have added the interest, handed the surplus to 
Steele. Those who dispute the sincerity of Steele's affection for Addison 
may bear this anecdote in mind. The admirers of Addison treat this harsh 
proceeding with good-natured levity. I will not stop to comment on it, 
but I may be permitted to express my doubts of a friendship that could 
preserve its integrity and its ardour after such a shock as this. 

But of Addison's friends Mr. Pope and Sir Richard Steele were not the 
only victims of his friendship. Ambrose Phillips was a stately gentleman 
who had passed the best portion of his life in lisping dull songs about 
Chloris and Damon, Strephon and Delia, weak-minded shepherds and 
bread-and-butter shepherdesses, who made it their silly business to play 
dismal tunes on oaten reeds to listening flocks of sheep which they called 
their "fleecy care.'^ To see such a man made a fool of must delight every 
one. Pope made a fool of him by sending a paper to the "Guardian" 
brimful of good irony, in which while he appeared to praise Phillips as a 
superior poet to Pope, he left Pope so much the first that Phillips was literally 
nowhere. The artless and literal Irishman, Steele, was duped b^ the ex- 
cellent irony ; the astute Addison saw the joke, Phillips was Addison's 



1 5 6 Joseph A ddison. 

In humour no mortal has excelled him except Moliere. — 
Warto7i, 

Addison was the best company in the world. — Lady 
Montagu, 

I have never seen a more modest or a more awkward man. 
— C/iesferJield, 



friend ; Addison indeed professed quite an affection for Phillips. He had 
praised his Pastorals ; he had praised his Tragedies. With great demure- 
ness, pretending not to see Pope's irony, he had it printed. The ridicule 
of his friends greatly exasperated Phillips, \vho hung up a rod at Button's, 
with which he threatened to beat Pope when he should come to the coffee- 
house. Pope, who was no coward, laughed contemptuously at Phillips' 
menaces, called him a rascal, and charged him with robbing the Hanover 
Club. This double consequence — the discomfiture of Phillips and the 
quarrel of Pope — was much enjoyed by the virtuous Mr. Addison. 

Of all the persons in that age who were least likely to provoke ill-feeling 
Gay was the chief Everybody who knew Gay loved him. Yet one 
enemy Gay must have had, though he was doubtless quite unconscious 
of it. That enemy was not the malignant Pope, nor the surly Swift, nor 
the caustic Garth ; but the mild, the benevolent, the virtuous Mr. Addison, 
who from his deathbed sent for Mr. Gay, and told the good-natured fellow, 
with obvious remorse, that he had injured him ; but promised, should he 
recover, to make him liberal amends. 

Among the several men who hung about Mr. Addison with the obse- 
quiousness of servants and the flattery of knaves, I should doubt, however 
sincerely he might have been respected, w hether there was one who loved 
him. He sat among them silent as a spectre, disdainful as a sultan. He 
boasted indeed of a good banking-account ; but he seldom produced his 
cheque-book. He was proud to a degree that almost justified the term of 
conceit. In the presence of those who knew him he let loose his imagina- 
tion and conversed freely; but a single stranger was sufficient to freeze him 
into rigidity. He resembled a woman who in her morning dress can 
converse familiarly enough with her family, but who when in evening dress 
dare not budge or even breathe easily for fear of bursting a lace or crack- 
ing a hook. His friends imputed his reserve to modesty; but it was a 
modesty that strangely resembled self-conceit. He had a horror of impair- 
ing his dignity. His ambition was to be considered the greatest wit of his 
age ; and he was unwilling to risk the character which he might hope he 
had gained by the hazard of conversation. Although he had commenced 
his poetical career by praising Dryden, when the approbation of Dryden 
was of the utmost importance to the literary tyro ; when he had become 
distinguished he did his utmost to depreciate him. He refused to allow 
merit to any man whose merit was superior to his. He certainly disliked 
Swift, though he had flattered him with needless hypocrisy of admiration. 
We have witnessed his conduct towards Pope, from whom he had much to 
fear, and towards Gay, from whom he had nothing to fear. His 
court consisted of a number of mediocrists for whom he undoubtedly 
possessed a deep if a secret contempt. Cleverer men he would not 
have cared for as courtiers, even could he have procured cleverer men. 



• Joseph A ddison, 157 

Mr. Addison sent for the young Earl of Warwick as he was 
dying to show him in what peace a Christian could die ; un- 
luckily he died of brandy. — Horace Walpole 

What Cato did, and Addison approved, 
Cannot be wrong. — Eustace BudgelL 

Peace to all such ! but were there one whose fires 
True genius kindles and fair fame inspires ; 



The monarch would have been jealous of his slaves. Budgell was one 
of his courtiers, whose relationship Addison coldly deprecated by the dis- 
dainful appellation of the man who calls me cousin;" the author of some 
weak poetry and middling prose, who terminated his career by forgery and 
suicide. Ambrose Phillips was another courtier ; and Thomas Tickell, a 
good scholar and a maudlin versifier, whom Addison used as an instrument 
to injure Pope ; Steele, Davenant, Carey, and Colonel Brett, formed the 
remainder of that circle of slaves who bowed to Addison in his chair at 
Button's, laughed at his sarcasms levelled against themselves, and hardened 
him in his conceit, probably with as much malice as he used to harden 
others in their folly. 

When Addison was poor he did not disdain to employ the art of flattery, 
which the existence of the patron rendered the essential condition of the 
literary life. He sung weak and obsequious songs to the King, to Somers, 
to Halifax. Nor did his love of virtue restrain him from promoting his 
interests by an obeisance to vice; for he dedicated his opera of "Rosa- 
mond " to the Duchess of Marlborough, a woman whose depraved charac- 
ter has been rendered immortally notorious by Pope ; and paid diligent 
court to the Marquis of Wharton, a man who has been properly denounced 
as "impious, profligate, and shameless, without regard or appearance of 
regard to right and wrong." 

He was a man wholly incapable of loving. Women he did not care for ; 
it amused him indeed to watch them ; their pretty airs, their dainty pre- 
tensions, their sly vanities, entertained him as the movements of wax dolls 
entertain a child. They supplied him with food for mirth, for wit, for 
essays. I should doubt whether, in spite of his papers in the "Spec- 
tator," he had a much higher opinion of women than Swift, whose opinion 
of them was such as not to bring discredit on the sex, but on the depraved 
taste that could have selected associates capable to inspire such degrading 
notions of women. That no criminal amours were ever imputed to Addi- 
son proves not that he was virtuous but that he was cold. In other 
respects he assuredly indulged his inclinations when they prompted. He 
indulged his love of admiration, he indulged his love of hypocrisy, he 
indulged his love of mischief, he indulged his love of envy, he indulged 
his love of smoking to excess, he indulged his love of drinking to a degree 
which compelled a frequent apology for his writing, rendered illegible by 
his shaking hand. Could he have felt love, he would have been a lover 
with the same zest with which he drank wine, joked at Steele, and hated 
Pope. Devotion to his own affairs — a wise devotion, it must be admitted — 
was the principle by which he was ruled. To self-interest was subordinated 
most of those qualities and passions which among the greater portion of 



158 



Joseph Addison. 



Blest with each talent and each art to please, 
And born to write, converse, and live with ease ; 
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone. 
Bear like the Turk, no brother near the throne 3 
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, 
And hate for arts that caused himself to rise ; 



mankind subordinate self-interest. To his determination to aggrandise 
himself at the expense of every emotion he was capable of experiencing 
must be attributed his marriage. Being appointed tutor to the young Earl 
of Warwick, he determined to become the Earl's father-in-law. The 
Dowager Countess of Warwick was a woman of great vanity and little wit. 
Old enough to be Addison's aunt, she seems to have played with him with 
the petulance and capriciousness of a young coquette, not reluctant to be 
wooed, but most reluctant to be won. It may be doubted whether Addi- 
son's feelings towards Lady Warwick were half so genuine as Pope's feel- 
ings towards Lady Mary. Pope has been severely handled because, after 
his protestations of love had been met with a fit of laughter, he hastened 
away trembling with rage, and lampooned the thoughtless fair. But his 
very revulsion of feeling surely presupposes the existence of a passion that 
was genuine at least in its first movement. Yet Addison submitted to a 
behaviour from his mistress, if less nide, certainly not less repellant to his 
feelings as a lover, without exhibiting the slightest discomposure, or testi- 
fying the slightest disapprobation. Her jibes were met by his courtliest 
smiles ; her haughty laughter by his humblest bow. He was without love, 
and therefore without sensibilities. He attacked the widow as he would 
have stormed a redoubt, careless of the belching guns and the leaden sleet : 
impelled only by the thought of the glory he should achieve when the height 
was surmounted and his own flag streamed in the place of the enemy's. 
He survived his marriage three years ; but short as Was his matrimonial 
career, it had formed an experience through which he would not have lived 
again for the wealth of the kingdom of Morocco. He was the most miser- 
able husband that was ever burdened with a middle-aged shrew who had 
no respect for him, and for whom he had no love. He maintained indeed 
his passionless manners, his courtly imperturbability ; but he increased his 
quantity of wine and doubled the number of his visits to Button's. But 
neither the wine-bottle nor the coffee-house could soften his matrimonial 
sufferings. He had married a woman who looked upon him as a being 
utterly beneath her, one whom, if she treated him as civilly as she treated 
her footman, she thought she treated him as he deserv^ed. The birth of an 
idiot seemed to illustrate the fruits of an ambition of which the penalties 
had been imposed with singular severity. Addison may be said to have 
died of his wife. 

His coldness was the quality that rendered him the sagacious observer 
that he was. In politics he was too violent as a Whig to be useful or keen 
as a statesman. But as a spectator of manners he was eminently qualified. 
His passionless nature left his judgment unerring and unbiassed. Out of 
literature he had no prejudices. He could watch from his secure height 
the queer masquerade of humanity sweep by without a single emotion to 
weaken or divert his curiosity. Wealth, reputation, position acquired by 



Joseph Addison. 



Kill with faint praise, assent with civil leer, 
And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer ; 
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, 
Just hint a fault and hesitate dislike ; 
Alike reserved to blame or to commend, 
A timorous foe and a suspicious friend ; 



any otlier means than literature, gave him no pang ; he could dispassionately 
contemplate it as an effect of which he was to find and explain the cause. 
His business was to give answers to the charades which life uttered to 
him ; and singularly accurate were the answers he gave. His sense of the 
ridiculous was extraordinarily keen, but pathos he could not find in common 
life : he had to seek it in religion. Under that definition which makes 
humour laughter with a sob in it, the humour of Addison does not come. 
An essential of his humour is satire ; but it is satire so gentle, so caressing, 
that it may well take the name of humour. As a writer he does not go 
deep ; his essays resemble the outlines which great painters throw off by 
way of giving preliminaiy embodiment, so to speak, to their fancies, which 
but for this catching of them might be subtle enough to evade realization. 
Wanting in details, the fulness of their life is implied rather than expressed. 
But the implication carries with it the impressiveness of a laborious expres- 
sion. It would have been marred by details. You can picture him with 
his demure, shy eyes, sitting in his arm-chair near the coffee-house chimney, 
pretending not to hear the boasts of the Turkey merchant to the attentive 
'Change Alley broker ; pretending not to observe the vanity of the beau 
who sits with his leg turned out to show off his calf and his pink-heeled 
shoe ; pretending not to mark the politeness of the coffee-house keeper to 
those who wear lace, and his inattention to those who wear dirty linen. 
At church he pays less attention to his Prayer-book than to the complexion 
of the clergyman or to the haughty air of Aminta as she kneels at the 
Thanksgiving prayer, or to the number of curls in Amaiyllis's full-bottom 
wig. At the playhouse he does not think of the tragedy to which he ap- 
pears to pay the most complimentary attention, but amuses himself with 
counting the number of punks in the pit, or with reckoning from how many 
paint-pots the tragic queen has culled the face which the rows of beaux 
near the footlights are ogling, or with guessing the tumblers of brandy the 
tragic king will drink when he has doffed the purple and emerges from the 
stage door in a dark street behind the theatre in his frowsy toupee and his 
dirty stockings. He does not care to denude life. He is satisfied to lift a 
corner of the disguise and take a peep. He is content to see Chloe cram- 
ming her mouth with her plumpers, gimiming on her eyebrows, hiding her 
warts with party patches, powdering her crows' feet, and practising her 
simpers, without following the chair that carries her away towards the 
Mall. If he hints his doubts of Chloe taking all these pains for her hus^ 
band, he does not directly tell you that my Lord Snapwit is waiting for 
her chair to pass at the windows of White's chocolate house. 

Addison when young had been up to the waist in poverty, and had 
scrambled out of the ditch after the usual fashion of those times by laying 
hold of the hand of a patron. He was a clumsy flatterer; which may be 
attributed to his pride. But he did not disdain to flatter those wlio could 



i6o 



Joseph Addison, 



Dreading ev'n fools, by flatterers besieged, 
And so obliging that he ne'er obliged j 
Like Cato, give his little senate laws, 
And sit attentive to his own applause ; 
While wits and templars every sentence raise, 
And wonder with a foolish face of praise — 



help him, any more than he disdained to listen to the flattery of those who 
could do him no good. 

Poets were not likely to gain much by ''great Nassau," although no 
monarch was ever more liberally bemused. But the King had ministers 
who were better patrons ; and of his ministers undeniably the most munifi- 
cent patron was Somers. In Somers Addison found the friend who may 
be first said to have drawn him to dry land. He next turned to Mon- 
tague, to whom he addressed some I.atin verses. His flattery served 
him even better with Halifax than with Somers. According to the 
thinking of those times a hero could not be wholly a hero until he 
had become the hero of a poem. The victory of Blenheim had been 
won by Marlborough ; the country was intoxicated with the success. 
The people roared, the cannons thundered, all Grub Street sang, but 
sang so badly, that Lord Godolphin found it necessaiy to look about 
for a poet. He applied to Lord Halifax, who named Addison. 
Addison, who A\'as then living in rags and poverty up a two-stair back 
in the Haymarket, was politely waited upon by Mr. Boyle, who communi- 
cated Godolphin's wish that he would wx'xXq. a poem on Marlborough. 
Addison set to work and produced the "Campaign." The poem was 
pronounced a masterpiece by an age that never read Milton, that looked 
upon Shakspeare as a poet more barbarous than Caedmon, that accepted 
Monsieur Boileau as the perpetual dictator of art, and my Lord Dorset as a 
nobler poet than Dryden. His reward was immediate ; he was at once 
made Commissioner of Appeals. Addison had already drunk from the 
jewelled chalice of the patron \^hen he had received his three hundred 
pounds a year to travel on ; but this Commissionship was the first rising 
above the horizon of that star ^^'hich was so rapidly to soar to its meridian. 
Honours fell upon him thick and fast. He was made Under-Secretary of 
State ; heVas made Secretary to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland (Wharton) ; 
he was made Keeper of the Records in Birmingham's Tower ; the Queen 
solicited his dedications ; he was made Secretaiy to the Regency ; he was 
made Secretary of State. 

Such was the Right Honourable Joseph Addison's campaign, of which 
the origin was the simile of the angel which he had introduced into the 
campaign of Marlborough. A very literal man might imagine that it 
needed something more than a few lines of poetiy to bear him through so 
long a line of honours ; yet it must have been the simile of the angel, and 
nothing more, that did it. Whoever impartially reads the life of Addison 
must pronounce him to have been conspicuously unequal to the duties of 
any one of the various posts he filled, unless that of the Keeper of the 
Records in Birmingham's tower be excepted. As an orator he was totally 
deficient. Whether from nervousness, from modesty, or from incapacity to 



Joseph Addison, 



i6i 



Who but must laugh if such a man there be ? 
Who would not weep if Atticus were he ? — Pope, 
That awful form which, so the heavens decree, 
Must still be lov'd and still deplor'd by me ; 
In nightly visions seldom fails to rise, 
Or rous'd by Fancy, meets my waking eyes. 



convey his thoughts, he seldom spoke in the House ; and when he spoke, 
the few that might try to hear him could not understand him. Pope 
declared that he could not issue an order without losing his time in 
quest of fine expressions. It is not to be expected that a man should dis- 
charge with mechanical precision the duties of a post to which he is just 
appointed. Such precision, at all events, was not expected from Addison 
when he was appointed Secretary of State. But it was naturally thought 
that a man who had served as Under-Secretary of State, who had occupied 
various important positions in the administration of Government, would 
not come to a post that might, indeed, be more onerous, but little 
dissimilar to those to which he was used, wholly ignorant of its duties. 
Yet it is universally allowed that Addison was singularly unequal to his 
work as Secretary of State. " I received,^' wrote Lady Mary Montagu to 
Pope, **the news of Mr. Addison's being declared Secretary of State with 
the less surprise in that I knew that post was almost offered to him before. 
At that time he declined it, and I really believe that he would have done 
well to have declined it now. Such a post as that, and such a wife as the 
Countess, do not seem to be, in prudence, eligible for a man that is asth- 
matic, and we may see the day when he will be heartily glad to resign them 
both." Lady Maiy prophecied truly. Discovering his incapacity, Addison 
procured his dismissal, and retreated to his Countess and his books with a 
retiring pension of fifteen hundred pounds a year. 

One of Addison's greatest admirers, who in this single instance has suf- 
fered his zeal to impair his judgment, has afiii-med a proposition or two 
that must startle or bewilder any one even superficially acquainted with the 
literature of the eighteenth century in England. '*In Addison's days," 
says Thackeray, * ' you could scarcely show him a literary performance, a 
sermon, a poem, or a piece of literary criticism, but he felt he could do 
better. His justice," he continues, must have made him indifferent. He 
didn't praise, because he measured his compeers by a higher standard than 
common people have. How was he who was so tall to look up to any but 
the loftiest genius ? He must have stooped to put himself on a level with 
most men." So far from this being the truth, it is certain that Addison had 
a very particular regard for the judgment of his friends ; that he handed 
his compositions about with nervous solicitude to procure correction and 
improvement. Nor can it be pretended that as a poet he was superior, 
not to Pope, to Swift, to Arbuthnot, to Young, to whom it would be 
indeed absurd to compare him ; but to John Phillips and Ambrose 
Phillips, to Granville, to Parnell, to Garth, to Hughes, nay, let me search 
the depths, to Sprat, to Congreve (as a poet), to Blackmore, to Fenton, to 
Isaac Watts. ■ If he be not better than these, to whom among his contem- 
poraries is he better as a poet ? In his poems better specimens of bathos 
can be found than in any book of poetry to be seen in any second-hand 

M 



l62 



JosepJi Addison. 



If business calls or crowded courts invite, 
Th' unblemish'd statesman seems to strike my sight. 
If in the stage I seek to soothe my care, 
I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there ; 
If, pensive, to the moral shades I rove. 
His shape overtakes me in the lonely grove. 
'Twas there of just and good he reason'd strong ; 
Clear'd some great truth or rais'd some serious song ; 
There patient, show'd us the wise course to steer, 
A candid censor and a friend severe ; 
There taught us how to live ; and (oh ! too high, 
The price of knowledge) taught us how to die. — TicJzelL 
The great satirist who alone knew how to use ridicule 
without abusing it, who without inflicting a wound effected 
a great social reform, and who reconciled wit and virtue 
after a long and disastrous separation, during which wit had 
been led astray by profligacy and virtue by fanaticism. — 
Macaulay. 

If Swift's life was the most wretched, I think Addison's was 



bookseller's shop in London. Some of his lines are exquisitely absurd; and 
some of them are totally devoid of meaning. As a dramatist he was in* 
ferior to the madman Lee, to Edmund vSmith, whose *'Ph3edra" is as a 
work of art superior to "Cato," and to John Gay, whose Beggar's 
Opera" is worth a hundred dozen *' Rosamonds." He was wholly in- 
capable of portraying the passion of love; his personages are destitute of 
individuality, being mere figures of straw dressed in Roman costume, who 
declaim the dreariest heroics that ever forced our ancestors to rap their 
snuff-boxes or raise their catcalls with impatience. His "Simile of the 
Angel" and about six quotations from "Cato" live, and his hymn is as 
immortal as the religion it celebrates. But having said this, what more can 
be said for Addison as a poet or a dramatist ? That officious admiration 
which gives him excellences to which indeed he aspired but Avhich he never 
reached, is surely ill-judged. Posterity has surely awarded him all the 
honour that is due ^^•hen it has pronounced him to have been one of the 
greatest humourists in the English language, one of the purest writers, 
the great reformer of English society who restored to the people of Great 
Britain their religion which had long been a fugitive, and their virtues which 
had long been exiles. He cleansed their wit, which was clouded by 
obscenity. He illuminated their literature by the diffusion of soft and 
radiant graces. He achieved for piety the alliance of genius, and for 
morality the advocacy of wit. As a prose writer, as an essayist indeed, it 
would be almost impossible to overstate the services he has rendered to his 
countrymen; but that he is entitled to the character which has been given 
him as a man and a poet, that his character was as stainless as his prose, 
that his genius v^as as universal as his humour, those perhaps who admire 
him v.-ith the wisest appreciation will most strenuously deny. — Ed. 



Joseph Addiso7t — Sir Samicel Garth, 163 

the most enviable. A life prosperous and beautiful — a calm 
death — an immense fame and affection afterwards for his 
happy and spotless name. — Thackeray, 

Thus Addison by lords caress'd 
Was left in foreign lands distress'd ; 
Forgot at home, became, for hire, 
A travelling tutor to a squire. 
But wisely left the Muse's hill, 
To business shap'd the poet's quill, 
L^t all his barren laurels fade, 
Took up himself the courtier's trade ; 
And, grown a minister of state, 
Saw poets at his levee wait. — Swiff, 

He was not free with his superiors. He was rather 
mute in his society on some occasions ; but when he began 
to be company, he was full of vivacity, and went on in a 
noble stream of thought and language, so as to chain the 
attention of every one to \i\m,—You7ig, 

The misfortune of Mr. Addison's character is this. He is 
known only to most readers, at least to most scholars, as a man 
of the gentlest manners and as a polite writer. Under the last 
idea, we admire the elegance of his mind, the softness of his 
ridicule, the beauty of his moral sentiments, and the graces of 
his imagination. But he had another and very different 
character. He was a keen party man, and when heated in 
political controversy, he could be as declamatory, and more 
veheme?it than I have thought fit to represent him. In proof 
of this, I refer you to all his political writings, but more 
especially to his Whig-Exa^niner, written with a poignancy 
and severity which could hardly have been expected from 
Mr. Addison. This then was his political character. — Bishop 
Httrd, 

Sir Samuel Garth. 

1672-1719. 

And Garth, the best good Christian hcj 
Although he knows it not. — Fope. 

Garth was a most amiable man ; it was said of him that no 
physician knew his art more nor his trade less." The Vivacity 

M 2 



164 



Sir Samuel Garth. 



of his conversation made Garth an universal favourite both 
with Whigs and Tories, when party-rage ran high. — Warton. 

His personal character seems to have been social and liberal. 
He communicated himself through a very wide extent of ac- 
quaintance ; and though firm in a party, at a time when firmness 
included virulence, yet he imparted his kindness to those who 
were not supposed to favour his principles. He was an early 
encourager of Pope, and was at once the friend of Addison and 
Granville.^ — yoJmson. 

One of the most agreeable memories connected with Button's 
is that of Garth, a man whom, for the sprightliness and generosity 
of his nature, it is a pleasure to name. He was one of the 
most intelligent and amiable of a most intelligent and amiable 
class of men. — Leigh Hunt. 

Garth, the accomplished and benevolent, whom Steele has 
described so charmingly, of whom Codrington said, that his 
character was ^' all beauty," and whom Pope himself called the 
best of Christians without knowing it. — Thackeray. 

His character appears to have presented a rare compound of 
bland and conciliatory manners with an independent spirit. 
His labours at the College of Physicians were devoted to pur- 
poses of charity, which then engaged the attention of that body. 
His literary talents were applied to satirize the unworthy 
members of his profession, and to elevate its character. He 
was an uncommon instance of a man possessing literary attain- 
ments and acquiring professional eminence. In those days, 
and even so late as the time of Darvvin, the pursuit of the belles 
lettres was not inimical to the extension of a medical practice, 
and Garth's celebrated satire on a portion of his professional 
brethren introduced him into all that a physician most prizes. 
— '''' Mejuoirs of Sa7'ah^ Diichess of Marlborough.^^ 



^ Granville (Lord Lansdowne) has been immortalized by Pope as 
*' Granville the polite." His life presents few features of interest. Johnson 
has said of him that ' ' he copied the wrong as well as the right from his 
masters, and may be supposed to have learnt obscenity from Wycherley as 
he learned mythology from Waller." His verses are without merit, though 
I have sometimes quoted him. In an address to Garth in his sickness," 
he petitions Apollo to " defend his darling son," 

On whom, like Atlas, the whole world's reclined." — Ed. 



i65 

Nicholas Rowe, 
1673-1718. 

. Rowe's genius was rather delicate and soft than strong and 
pathetic ; his compositions soothe us with a tranquil and tender 
sort of complacency, rather than cleave the heart with pangs of 
commiseration. His distresses are entirely founded on the 
passion of love. His diction is extremely elegant and chaste, 
and his versification highly melodious. His plays are declama- 
tions rather than dialogues, and his characters are general and 
undistinguished from each other. — Warton, on Pope. 

As to his person, it was graceful and well-made ; his face 
regular and of manly beauty. As his soul was well lodged, so 
its animal and rational faculties excelled in a high degree. He 
had a quick and fruitful invention, a deep penetration, and a 
large compass of thought ; with singular dexterity and easiness 
in making his thoughts understood. He was master of both 
parts of poHte learning, especially the classical authors, both 
Greek and Latin j understood the French, Italian, and Spanish 
languages, and spoke the first fluently and the other two 
tolerably well. — Welwood, 

Rowe, in Mr. Pope's opinion, maintained a decent character, 
but had no heart. Mr. Addison was justly offended with some 
behaviour which arose from that want, and estranged himself 
from him \ which Rowe felt very severely. Mr. Pope, their 
common friend, knowing this, took an opportunity, at some 
juncture of Mr. Addison's advancement, to tell him how poor 
Rowe was grieved at his displeasure, and what satisfaction he 
expressed at Mr. Addison's good fortune, which he expressed 
so naturally, that he (Mr. Pope) could not but think him 
sincere. Mr. Addison repHed, ^'I do not suspect that he 
feigned ; but the levity of his heart is such that he is struck 
with any new adventure, and it would affect him just in the 
same manner if he heard I was going to be hanged." Mr. Pope 
' said he could not deny but Mr. Addison understood Rowe well. 
— Wcirhurton. 

Whence has Rowe his reputation ? From the reasonableness 
and propriety of some of his schemes, from the elegance of his 
diction, and the suavity of his verse. He seldom moves either 
piety or terror 3 but he often elevates the sentiments ; he seldom 



1 66 Nicholas Rowe — Isaac Watts. 



pierces the breast, but he always delights the ear, and often 
improves the understanding. — yohnson. 

Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest ; 

Blest in thy genius, in thy love too blest. — Pope. 

Isaac Watts. 

1674- 1748. 

A man of true poetical feeling, careless indeed for the most 
part, and inattentive too often to those niceties which constitute 
elegancies of expression, but frequently sublime in his concep- 
tions, and masterly in his execution. Pope, I have heard, had 
placed him once in the " Dunciad," but on being advised to 
read before he judged him, was convinced that he deserved 
other treatment, and thrust somebody's blockhead into the gap. 
— Cowper. 

Few books have been perused by me with greater pleasure 
than his " Improvement of the Mind," of which the radical prin- 
ciples may indeed be found in " Locke's Conduct of the 
Understanding but they are so expanded and ramified by 
Watts as to confer upon him the merit of a work in the highest 
degree useful and pleasing. Whoever has the care of instructing 
others may be charged with deficience in his duty if this book 
is not recommended. I have mentioned his Treatise of 
Theology," as distinct from his other productions ; but the 
truth is that whatever he took in hand was by his incessant 
solicitude for souls converted into theology. As piety pre- 
dominated in his mind, it is diffused over his works ; under his 
direction it may be truly said theologice philosophia a?icillatur^ 
philosophy is subservient to evangelical instruction ; it is 
difficult to read a page without learning, or at least wishing to 
be better. The attention is caught by indirect instruction, and 
he that sat down only to reason, is on a sudden compelled to 
pray. — Johnso7u 

Dr. Samuel Clarke.^ 

1675- 1729. 

I would recommend to every man whose faith is yet unsettled, 
Grotius, Dr. Pearson, and Dr. Clarke. — Johnson. 



^ He had been for twelve years chaplain to the Bishop of Norwich, and 
Boyle Lecturer in 1704-5, when he took for his subject the Being and 



Dr, Samicel Clarke— Dr. Arbicthnot, 167 



Dr. Samuel Clarke stepped also aside from the notions com- 
monly received concerning the Trinity ; but his modification of 
this doctrine was not so remote from the popular and orthodox 
hypothesis, as the sentiments of Whiston. His method of in- 
quiring into that incomprehensible subject was modest, and at 
least promised fair as a guide to truth. For he did not begin 
by abstract and metaphysical reasonings, in his illustrations of 
this doctrine, but turned his first researches to the word and to 
the testimony, persuaded that, as the doctrine of the Trinity 
was a matter of mere revelation, all human explications of it 
must be tried by the declarations of the New Testament, in- 
teipreted by the rules of grammar^ and the principles of sound 
criticism. — Dr. Madaine. 

One of the most accurate, learned, and judicious writers this 
age has produced. — Addison. 

Dr. Arbuthnot 
1675-1735. 

He lived and died a devout and sincere Christian.- — Chester- 
field. 

I think Dr. Arbuthnot the first man among the eminent 
writers in Queen Anne's time. He was the most universal 
genius, being an excellent physician, a man of deep learning, 
and a man of much humour. — yohnson. 

He was a man that could do everything but walk.^ — Stuift. 

Arbuthnot was a man of consummate probity, integrity, and 
sweetness of temper. He had infinitely more learning than 
Pope or Swift, and as much wit and humour as either of 
them. ... It is known that he gave numberless hints to Pope, 
Swift, and Gay, of some of the most striking parts of their 
works. — Warton. 

There are passages in Arbuthnot's satirical works which we 
cannot distinguish from Swift's best ^N^^^Sixig.—Macmilay. 



Attributes of God, and the Evidences of Natural and Revealed Religion. " 
He had also translated Newton's " Optics," and was become chaplain to 
the Queen (1712), Rector of St. James's, Westminster, and D.D. of Cam- 
bridge. The accusations of heterodoxy that followed him through his 
after life date from this year, in which, besides the edition of " Caesar," he 
published a book on the Scripture Doctrine of the Trinity," — Morley. 
^ He suffered from a cruel internal malady,— Ed, 



Dr. Arbutknot — yohn Phillips. 



One of the wisest, wittiest, most accomplished, gentlest, 
of mankind. — Thackeray. 

He is usually allowed to have been the most learned as well 
as one of the most witty and humorous members of the Scrib- 
lerus Club. — Biog, Brit 

I know not but one might search these eight volumes 

Lives of the Poets ") with a candle, as the prophet says, to 
find a man, and not find one, unless perhaps Arbuthnot were 
he. — Cowper, 

The only Scotch writer that appears to have excelled in 
humour is Dr. Arbuthnot. — Dr. Hnrd. 

John Phillips. 
1676-1708. 

The parody on Milton^ is the only tolerable production of 
its author. — Gil don. 

What study could confer, Phillips had obtained ; but natural 
deficience cannot be supplied. He seems not born to great- 
ness and elevation. He is never lofty, nor does he often sur- 
prise with unexpected excellence. — J^oJmson. 

The Grecian philosophers have had their lives written, 
their morals commended, and their sayings recorded. Mr. 
Phillips had all the virtues to which most of them only pre- 
tended, and all their integrity without any of their affectation. 
— E. Smith. 

It was the boast of John Phillips, the poet of the Enghsh 
vintage, that the cider-land had ever been faithful to the throne, 
and that all the pruning-hooks of her thousand orchards had 
been beaten into swords for the service of the ill-fated Stuarts. 
— Macaulay. 

Henry St. John, Earl of Bolingbroke. 
1678-1751. 

Pope used to speak of him as a being of superior order, that 
had condescended to visit this lower world ; in particular when 
the last comet appeared and approached near the earth he told 



^ The " Splendid Shilling," the only performance that survives the 
author. — Ed. 



Henry St JohUy Earl of Bolingbroke. 169 



some of his acquaintance ^^it was sent only to convey Lord 
Bolingbroke home again j just as a stage-coach stops at your 
door to take up a passenger." — Warton, 

BoHngbroke professed himself a Deist, believing in a general 
Providence, but doubting (though by no means rejecting) the 
immortality of the soul and a future state. — Lord Chesterfield. 

Sir, he was a scoundrel and a coward j a scoundrel for dis- 
charging a blunderbuss against religion and morality ; a coward 
because he had not resolution to fire it off himself, but left half 
a crown to a beggarly Scotchman (Mallet) to draw the trigger 
after his death. — yohiisoji. 

What advantage do we derive from such writings ? What 
delight can a man find in employing a capacity which might 
be usefully exerted for the noblest purposes, in a sort of sullen 
labour in which, if the author could succeed, he is obliged to 
own that nothing could be more fatal to mankind than his suc- 
cess ? — Burke, 

The canker 'd Bolingbroke. — Addison. 

Bolingbroke, who of all those rascals and knaves that have 
been lying against me these late years has certainly the best 
parts and the most knowledge. He is a scoundrel, but he is a 
scoundrel of a higher class than Chesterfield. — George II. 

Though Lord Bolingbroke had no idea of wit, his satire was 
keener than any one's. — Lord Hervey. 

He was a man of eminent talents but of no fixed principles, 
or these hung so loosely about him as to be shaken off when- 
ever it suited his interests or convenience. His ambition was 
in advance even of his abilities ; and to gratify it he seems 
often to have deviated from the course of a wise or straight- 
forward man. ... A striking evidence of his powers was the 
sway which he held over minds of no secondary order, over 
statesmen and men of letters. Lord Chesterfield, the worldly 
and the witty, and who thought himself above his fellows in 
penetration, thought extravagantly of his talents whilst he cared 
nothing for his principles ; Prior gave him his love ; Swift, a 
caustic observer of men and manners, his esteem and regard ; 
Arbuthnot, his applause; and Pope, almost his adoration. — - 
James Prior. 

One of those characters that seemed formed by nature to 
take delight in struggling with opposition, and whose most 
agreeable hours are passed in storms of their own creating.— 
Goldsmith, 



170 Henry St. John, Earl of Bolingbroke. 



The graver part of the world who have not been quite so 
much given up to rockets and masquing are amused with a 
book of Lord BoHngbroke's, just pubHshed, but written long 
ago. It is composed of three letters, the first to Lord Corn- 
bury on the Spirit of Patriotism ; and the two others to Mr. 
Lyttleton (but with neither of their names) on the Idea of a 
Patriot King and the State of Parties on the late King's Ac- 
cession. . . , The book by no means answered my expectations ; 
the style, which is his forte^ is very fine ; the deduction, and im- 
possibility of drawing a consequence from what he is saying, 
as bad and obscure as in his famous Dissertation on Parties 
you must know the man to guess his meaning. Not to men- 
tion the absurdity and impracticability of this kind of system, 
there is a long speculative dissertation on the origin of govern- 
ment, and even that greatly stolen from other writers, and that 
all on a sudden dropped, while he hurries into his own times, 
and then preaches (he of all men !) on the duty of preserving 
decency. — H. Walpole. 

Of a most powerful natural capacity, to which were added 
splendid attainments, the result of a careful education acting 
upon an ardent and grasping mind — of great, but misdirected 
ambition — Lord Bolingbroke was one of those men by whom 
Fate dealt unkindly in subjecting them to the temptations of a 
political career. There is no reason indeed to conclude that 
Bolingbroke, untempted by that ambition to which he sacri- 
ficed so much, would have adorned private life by purity and 
temperance, which were not the fashionable virtues of the day. 
When even the high-minded and reflecting Somers could tar- 
nish his great qualities by licentious habits, there can be little 
cause to wonder that one who, like Bohngbroke, lived in a 
whirlwind, could be profane without a blush and grossly im- 
moral without contrition. — '-''Life of the Duchess of Marlborough.^^ 

O Bolingbroke ! O favourite of the skies, 

O born to gifts by which the noblest rise ! 

Improv'd in arts by which the brightest please, 

Intent to business, and polite for ease ; 

Sublime in eloquence, where loud applause 

Hath styl'd thee patron of a nation's cause ! — PaiiielL 

Bolingbroke was a man of brilliant parts, with much quick- 
ness and penetration, and extraordinary powers of application 
and capacity for business, He had accomplishments and at- 



Earl of Boling broke — Thomas Parnell, 1 7 1 

tainments that rendered him the delight and ornament of 
society j and possessed warm and generous affections that 
endeared him to his private friends. But with these merits 
and quahties he had defects which more than counter- 
balanced them. — Edinburgh Review^ i^SS* 

Thomas Parnell. 
1679— 1717. 

The general character of Parnell is not great extent of com- 
prehension or fertility of mind. Of the little that appears still 
less is his own. His praise must be derived from the easy 
sweetness of his diction ; in his verse there is more happiness 
than pains ; he is sprightly without effort, and always delights 
though he never ravishes ; everything is proper, yet everything 
seems casual. If there is some appearance of elaboration in 
the Hermit/' the narrative, as it is less airy, is less pleasing.— 
Johnson. 

With softest manners, gentle arts, adorn'd ; 

Blest in each science, blest in every strain. — -Pope. 

He appears to me to be the last of that great school that had 
modelled itself upon the ancients, and taught English poetry to 
resemble what the generality of mankind have allowed to excel. 
A studious and correct observer of antiquity, he set himself to 
consider nature with the lights it lent him ; and he found that 
the more aid he borrowed from the one, the more delightfully 
he resembled the other. . . Parnell is ever happy in the selec- 
tion of his images, and scrupulously careful in the choice of his 
subj ects. — Golds7nith, 

The fame of Parnell rests on the " Hermit," one of the most 
beautiful poems in our language ; the Rise of Woman," the 

Fairy Tale," and the " Allegory on Man," are perhaps next 
in merit. His characteristics are ease, sweetness, and dignity. 
— y^a77ies Prior . 

It is sufficient to run over Cowley once ; but Parnell, after 
the fiftieth reading, is as fresh as at the first. — David Htmie. 



1 

172 

George Psalmanazar. 
1679-1763. 

George Psalmanazar, who never told his real name or pre- 
cise birthplace, was an impostor from Languedoc. He had 
been educated in a Jesuit college, where he heard stories of 
the Jesuit missions in Japan and Formosa, which suggested to 
him how he might thrive abroad as an enterprising native. He 
enlisted as a soldier, and had in his character of Japanese only 
a small notoriety until, at Sluys, a dishonest young chaplain of 
Brigadier Lauder's Scotch regiment saw through the trick and 
favoured it, that he might recommend himself to the Bishop of 
London, for promotion. He professed to have converted 
Psalmanazar, baptized him, with the Brigadier for godfather, 
got his discharge from the regiment, and launched him upon 
London, under the patronage of Bishop Compton. Here 
Psalmanazar, who on his arrival was between 19 and 20 years 
old, became famous in the religious world. He supported his 
fraud by the invention of a language and letters, and of a For- 
mosan religion. . . . His gross and puerile absurdities in print 
and conversation — such as his statement that the Formosans 
sacrificed 18,000 male infants every year, and that the Japanese 
studied Greek as a learned tongue — excited a distrust that 
would have been fatal to the success of his fraud even with the 
credulous, if he had not forced himself to give colour to the 
story by acting the savage in men's eyes. But he must really, 
it was thought, be a savage who fed upon roots, herbs, and raw 
flesh. He made, however, so little by the imposture, that he 
at last confessed himself a cheat, and got his living as a well- 
conducted bookseller's hack. — Henry Morley. 

This extraordinary person lived and died in a house in Old- 
street, where Dr. Johnson was witness to his talents and virtues, 
and to his final preference of the Church of England, after having 
studied, disgraced and adorned so many modes of worship. 
The name he went by was not supposed by his friends to be 
that of his family ; but all inquiries were vain ; his reasons for 
concealing his original were penitentiary. He deserved no 
other name than that of the impostor, he said. — Mrs, Piozzi, 



173 



Elijah Fenton. 
1683-1730. 

Fenton was an elegant scholar, and had an exquisite taste ; 
the books he translated for Pope in the Odyssey" are superior 
to Broome's. In his " Miscellanies" are many pieces worthy of 
notice j particularly his " Epistle to Southerne the " Fair 
Nun," imitated from Fontaine ; Olivia, a Character f an 
" Ode to the Sun ;" and one to Lord Gower. . . . His tragedy 
of "Mariamne" has undoubtedly merit, though the diction 
be too figurative and ornamental. — Warton, 

He died of indolence.— i^^?^^. 

A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate. 
Whom heaven kept sacred from the proud and great : 
Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease, 
Content with science in the vale of peace. — Ibid, 

Strong were thy thoughts, yet reason bore the sway : 
Humble, yet learn'd ; though innocent, yet gay. 
So pure of heart that thou mightst safely show 
Thy inmost bosom to thy hated foe ; 
Careless of wealth, thy bliss a calm retreat. 
Far from the insults of the scornful great ; 
Thence looking with disdain on proudest things. 
Thou deemedst mean the pageantry of kings, 
Who build their pride on trappings of a throne, 
A painted riband or a glittering stone. 
Uselessly bright ! 'T^vas thine the soul to raise 
To nobler objects, such as angels praise. — Broome. 

Of his morals and his conversation the account is uniform ; 
he was never named but with praise and fondness, as a man in 
the highest degree amiable and excellent. Such was the 
character given of him by the Earl of Orrery, his pupil ; such is 
the testimony of Pope ; and such were the suffrages of all 
who could boast of his acquaintance. — Johnsoii. 

Sweet Fancy's bloom in Fenton's lay appears, 
And the ripe judgment of instructive years. 

Savage^ The Wanderer ^ 

Mr. Fenton was my tutor ; he taught me to read English, 
and attended me through the Latin tongue from the, age of 



1 74 Elijah Fenton — Bishop Berkeley. 



seven to thirteen years. He translated double the number of 
books in the Odyssey " that Pope has owned. His reward 
was a trifle — an arrant trifle. He has even told me that he 
thought Pope feared him more than he loved him. He had 
no opinion of Pope's heart, and declared him to be, in the 
words of Bishop Atterbury, " mens curva in corpore curvo" — 
a crooked mind in a crooked body. Poor Fenton died of a 
great easy chair and two bottles of port a day. He was one 
of the worthiest and most modest men that ever belonged to 
the court of Apollo. — Orrery. 



Bishop Berkeley. 
1684-1753. 

So much understanding, so much knowledge, so much inno- 
cence and so much humility I did not think had been the 
portion of any but angels until I saw this gentleman. — 
Bishop Atterbury. 

Berkeley gained the patronage and friendship of Lord 
Burlington not only by his true politeness and the peculiar 
charms of his conversation, which was exquisite, but by his 
profound and perfect skill in architecture. — Warton. 

"When Bishop Berkeley said " There was no matter,'^ 
And proved it — 'twas no matter what he said. 
They say his system 'tis in vain to batter, 
Too subtle for the airiest human head ; 
And yet who can believe it ? — Byron. 

Being in company with a gentleman who thought fit to 
maintain Dr. Berkeley's ingenious philosophy, that nothing 
exists but as perceived by some mind j when the gentleman 
Vv^as going away. Dr. Johnson said to him, Pray, sir, don't 
leave us ; for we may perhaps forget to think of you ; and 
then you will cease to exist." — " yoJnisonianar 

I vrent to Court to-day on purpose to present Mr. Berkeley, 
one of your Fellows of Dublin College, to Lord Berkeley of 
Stratton. That Mr. Berkeley is a very ingenious man and 
great philosopher, and I have mentioned him to all the ministers, 
and have given them some of his writings ; and I will favour 
him as much as I cdj\.— Swift 



Bishop Berkeley, 



Even in a bishop I can spy desert ; 
Seeker is decent, Rundell has a heart \ 
Manners with candour are to Benson given j 
To Berkeley every virtue under heaven. — Pope, 

We are now mad about tar-water, on the pubhcation of a 
book that I will send you, written by Dr. Berkeley, Bishop of 
Cloyne. The book contains every subject from Tar-water to 
the Trinity ; however, all the women read and understand it 
no more than they would if it were intelligible. — Horace 
Walpole. 

That all the arguments of Berkeley, though otherwise 
intended are, in reality, merely sceptical, appears from this — 
that they admit of no answer, and produce no conviction. — 
Himie, 

Bishop Berkeley destroyed the world in one volume octavOj 
and nothing remained after his time but mind — ^which ex- 
perienced a similar fate from the hand of Mr. Hume in 1737 • 
so that with all the tendency to destroy there remains nothing 
left for destruction. — Sydney Smith, 

The celebrated and ingenious Bishop of Cloyne, in his 
" Principles of Human Knowledge," denies without any 
ceremony the existence of every kind of matter whatever ; nor 
does he think this conclusion one that need, in any degree, 
stagger the incredulous. " Some truths there are," says he, 

so near and obvious to the mind, that a man need only open 
his eyes to see them. Such I take this important one, that all 
the choir of heaven and furniture of earth — in a word all those 
bodies which compose the mighty frame of the world — have 
not any subsistence without a mind." This deduction, how- 
ever singular, was readily made from the theory of our percep-^ 
tions laid down by Descartes and Mr. Locke, and at that time 
generally received in the world. According to that theory we 
IDerceive nothing but ideas which are present in the mind, and 
which have no dependence whatever on external things \ so 
that we have no evidence of the existence of anything external 
to our minds. Berkeley appears to have been altogether in 
earnest in maintaining his scepticism concerning the existence 
of matter j and the more so, as he conceived this system to be 
highly favourable to the doctrines of religion, since it removed 
matter from the world, which had already been the stronghold 
of the atheists. — Sir David Brewster. 



176 



Dr. Young. 
1684-1765. 

Young had much of a subHme genius, though without 
common sense ; so that his genius having no guide, was per- 
petually liable to degenerate into bombast. This made him 
pass a foolish youth^ the sport of peers and poets ; but his 
having a very good heart enabled him to support the clerical 
character when he assumed it, first with decency, and after- 
wards with honour. — Pope, 

Were everything that Young ever wrote to be published, he 
could only appear, perhaps, in a less respectable light as a poet, 
and more despicable as a dedicator ; he would not pass for a 
worse Christian or a worse man. — Herbert Croft. 

Young is not done justice to, popular as he is with a certain 
class of readers. He has never yet had a critic to display and 
make current his most peculiar and emphatic beauties. He is 
of all poets the one to be studied by a man who is about to 
break the golden chains that bind him to the world — his gloom 
then docs not appal or deject. . . . the dark river of his solemn 
genius sweeps the thoughts onwards to Eternity. — Lord Lytton. 

I am reminded here of Young, whose ^' Night Thoughts " 
(my favourite work) was composed, I think, in his latest years. 
. . . I was dining in a parliamentary party with Lord Castlereagh, 
and he produced for our amusement in the evening some 
volumes of original letters, curiously preserved by Lady C. 
My curiosity was immediately fixed by that of Dr. Young. I 
professed my enthusiastic admiration of his Night Thoughts," 
and begged to see and admire as a relic the original letter of 
such a man. My request was immediately granted with a 
significant smile ; and what had I the mortification to read ? 
Horresco referens ! It was the most fawning, servile, mendicant 
letter, perhaps, that ever was penned by a clergyman, imploring 
the mistress of George IL to exert her interest for his preferment.^ 
— Memoirs of H. More,'' 

In my youthful days. Young's ^' Night Thoughts " was a very 
favourite book, especially with ladies ; I knew more than one 
lady who had a copy of it, in which particular passages were 



Where Young must torture his invention 
To flatter knaves or lose his pension. — Swift. 



Dr, Young— Eustace BtidgelL 



^17 



marked for her by some popular preacher. Young's poem, the 
" Last Day " contains, amidst much absurdity, several fine 
lines j what an ejiormotis thought is this ! — - 

Those overwhelming armies whose command 

Said to one empire fall," another " stand 

Whose 7'ear lay wrapt in nighty while breaking dawfi 

Roused the broad fro?it, and caWd the battle on. — Rogers. 

What Young, satiric and sublime, has writ, 

Whose life is virtue and whose muse is wit. — Savage. 

His character was that of the true Christian divine, his 
heart was in his profession. It is reported that once preaching 
in his turn at St. James's, and being unable to gain attention, 
he sat down and burst into tears. His conversation was of the 
same nature as his works, and showed a solemn cast of thought 
to be natural to him j death, futurity, judgment, eternity, were 
his common topics. When at home in the country he spent 
many hours in the day walking among the graves in the church- 
yard. In his garden he had an alcove, painted as if with a 
bench to repose on ; on approaching near enough to discover 
the deception, the following motto was seen : " Invisibilia non 
decipiunt. " — ' ^ Me??toir of Dr. Young 1807. 

Of Young's poems it is difficult to give any general character, 
for he has no uniformity of manner ; one of his pieces has no 
great resemblance to another. He began to write early and 
continued long ; and at different times had different modes of 
poetical excellence in view. His numbers are sometimes 
smooth and sometimes rugged; his style is sometimes con- 
catenated and sometimes abrupt ; sometimes diffusive and 
sometimes concise. His plans seem to have started in his 
mind at the present moment; and his thoughts appear the 
effect of chance, sometimes adverse, and sometimes lucky, with 
very little operation of judgment.— Z^r. Joh7ison. 

Eustace BudgelL 
1685-1736. 

Let Budgell charge low Grub-street on his quill, 
And write whate'er he please, except my will. — Pope. 

Pert Budgell came next, and demanding the bays, 

Said those works must be good which had Addison's praise ; 

N 



178 Eustace Bttdgell — A llan Ramsay. 



But Apollo reply'd, child Eustace, 'tis known 
Most authors will praise whatsoever's their own. 

Duke of Buckmgham. 

We talked of a man's drowning himself. Johnson : I should 
never think it time to make away with myself." I put the 
case of Eustace Budgell, who was accused of forging a will, and 
sunk himself in the Thames before the trial of its authenticity 
came on. " Suppose, sir," said I, " that a man is absolutely 
sure that, if he lives a few days longer, he shall be detected in 
a fraud, the consequence of which will be utter disgrace and 
expulsion from society." Johnson : Then, sir, let him go 
abroad to a distant country ] let him go to some place where 
he is ?iot known ; don't let him go to the devil where he is 
\.\-\o^\\1r—Bosu'd^s JoJuison:'' 



Allan Ramsay. 
1685-1758. 

Allan Ramsay was the first wlio wrote with success in the 
language more peculiarly belonging to the country. This poet 
was born in Lanarkshire, in 1686, and entered life as a wig 
maker in the city of Edinburgh, where he finally became a 
bookseller. The homely rhymes which had maintained an 
obscure existence from early times, and been recently prac- 
tised with something like revived effect by poets named Semple 
and Pennycuick, Avere adopted and improved by Ramsay, who 
found further models in the poems of Butler, Dryden, and 
Pope. After producing some short pieces of considerable 
humour, he published, in 1726, his celebrated pastoral drama of 



^ Budgell drowTied himself to escape a prosecution on account of forging 
the will of Dr. Tindall, in which he had inserted a provision of two thou- 
sand pounds for himself. He contributed about forty papers to the Spectator. 
He was first cousin to Addison, whom he accompanied to Ireland as private 
secretaiy when Addison was secretary to Lord Wharton. In 1717 he pro- 
cured, through the influence of Addison, who was then Secretary of State 
for Ireland, the post of Accountant and Comptroller General of the Irish 
Revenues, which he lost (1718) by satirizing the Duke of Bolton. His min 
was completed by speculating in the South Sea Bubble. There was found 
in his room, after having committed suicide, a slip of paper on which was 
written, ^Yhat Cato did, and Addison^approved, cannot be wrong." — Ed. 



Allan Ramsay. 



179 



the " Gentle Shepherd," which has become the chief prop of his 
reputation. This drama depicts the rustics of Scotland in their 
actual characters, and the language of their every-day Hfe, and 
yet without any taint of vulgarity. It is full of fine, cordial, 
natural feeling, has some good descriptive passages, and turns 
on an event which irresistibly engages the sympathies of the 
reader. — R. Cha^nbers. 

In Scotland the scenery, rural economy, and the songs of 
the peasantry, sung At the wanking of the fold," presented 
Ramsay with a much nearer image of pastoral life, and he 
accordingly painted it with the fresh feeling and enjoyment of 
nature. Had Sir William Jones understood the dialect of that 
poet, I am convinced that he would not have awarded the pas- 
toral crown to any other author. Ramsay's shepherds are 
distinct, intelligible beings, neither vulgar, like the caricatures of 
Gay, nor fantastic, like those of Fletcher. They afford such a view 
of a national peasantry as we should wish to acquire by travelling 
among them, and form a draft entirely devoted to rural man- 
ners, which for truth, and beauty, and extent, has no parallel 
in the richer language of England. — Blackwood' s Magazijie, 
1833. 

I spoke of Allan Ramsay's Gentle Shepherd," in the Scot- 
tish dialect, as the best pastoral that had ever been written ; 
not only abounding with beautiful rural imagery, and just and 
pleasing sentiments, but being a real picture of manners, and 
I offered to teach Dr. Johnson to understand it. " No, sir," 
said he ; 1 won't learn it. You shall retain your superiority 
by my not knowing iV—BoswelL 

Hail, Caledonian bard ! whose rural strains 

Delight the listening hills, and cheer the plains ! 

Already polish'd by some hand divine, 

Thy purer ore what furnace can refine ? 

Careless of censure, like the sun shine forth 

In native lustre and intrinsic worth : 

To follow nature is by rules to write ; 

She led the way, and taught the Stagirite. 

From her the critic's taste, the poet's fire, 

Both drudge in vain, till she from heaven inspire. 

By the same guide, instmcted how to soar, 

Allan is now what Homer was before. — Somerville, 

Ramsay, to be sure, is ideal enough; but there are good 

N 2 



l8o Allan Ramsay — Alexander Pope, 



ideas and bad ideas. To be snatched from the commonplaces 
of hfe that one might ride on the curl'd clouds," or penetrate 
the solitudes of a poet's imagination, is good ; but it is not so 
to leave the busy facts of society merely to get on the platitude 
of a barren table-land. Out of a proper reverence to my 
master's opinion, I have looked again and again at the Gentle 
Shepherd," and I am so unfortunate as to think it the flattest 
rubbish I ever read. — C. Oilier to Leigh Hunt. 

The mystic humour and exact truth of Ramsay. — Allan 
Cwmingham. 

Alexander Pope. 
1688-1744. 

The wicked asp of Twickenham. — Lady M, W. Montagu. 
Leave him as soon as you can," said Addison to me, speak- 
ing of Pope, " he will certainly play you some devilish trick 
else ; he has an appetite to satire." — Ibid. 

I could never get the blockhead to study his grammar. — 
Swift. 

His wit is as thick as Tewkesbury mustard. — Theobald. 
Hard as thy heart and as thy birth obscure. — Lord Hervey? 
He has a knack at versifying, but in prose I think myself a 
match for him. — Curll' 

Those miserable mountebanks of the day, the poets, disgrace 



^ Lord Hen-ey was Pope's Spo7'us. He was the second son of the first 
Earl of Bristol, a family whose odd characteristics had caused Lady M. 
Montagu to divide mankind into ''Men, Women, and Herveys." He 
married the witty and beautiful Molly Lepell," and the event was thus 
celebrated : — 

For Venus had never seen bedded 

So perfect a beau and a belle, 
As when Herv^ey the handsome was wedded 

To the beautiful Molly Lepell. 

Lord Hervey was not destitute of wit, though some of his lines have 
been absurdly overpraised. His recriminations on Pope are the best, 
indeed the only good things he wrote. — Ed. 

2 Peace be with Curll, with whom I wave all strife, 
Who pens each felon's and each actor's life ; 
Biography that cooks the devil's martyrs. 
And lards with luscious rapes the cheats of Chartres. — Savage, 



Alexander Pope, 



I8i 



themselves and deny God in running down Pope, the most 
faultless of poets. — Byro7i. 

I never in my life knew a man that had so tender a heart for 
his particular friends, or more general friendship for mankind. 
— Boli7igbroke. 

He was about four feet six inches high, very hump- 
backed and deformed. He wore a black coat, and, according 
to the fashion of that time, had on a little sword. He had a 
large and very fine eye, and a long handsome nose ; his mouth 
had those peculiar marks which are always found in the mouths 
of crooked persons, and the muscles which run across the 
cheek were so strongly marked that they seemed like small cords. 
— Sir y, Rey7iolds. 

As truly as Shakspeare is the poet of man, as God made him, 
dealing with great passions and innate motives, so truly is Pope 
the poet of society, the delineator of manners, the exposer of 
those motives which may be called acquired, whose spring is in in- 
stitutions and habits of purely worldly origin. — Ja7?ies Lowell, 

I have observed that Pope had more wit than humour — 
indeed, he has little or nothing of this last quality, as may be 
seen by his papers on the " Short Club " in the Gtiardia7i, June 
25 and 26, and his letter to Swift, December 8, 1713, published 
by Lord Orrery. Mr. Addison's talent in this mode of writing 
seems to have excited his emulation, but without success. He 
saw this, and made I think no more attempts at humour. — 
Dr. Hurd, 

Pope was a Deist, believing in a future state j this he has 
often owned to me ; but when he died, he sacrificed a cock to 
Esculapius, and suffered the priests who got about him to 
perform all their absurd ceremonies on his body. — Lord 
Chesterfield, 

Inquire between Sunninghill and Oakingham for a young, 
short, squab gentleman, the very bow of the god of love, and 
tell me whether he be a proper author to make personal reflec- 
tions ? He may extol the ancients, but he has reason to thank 
the gods that he was born a modern, for had he been born of 
Grecian parents and his father consequently had by law had the 
absolute disposal of him, his life had been no longer than that 
of one of his poems, the life of half a day. — yoh7i De7i7iis. 

The late Lord Somerville, who saw much both of great and 
brilliant life, told me that he had been in company with Pope, 
and that after dinner the little man, as he called hini, drank 



182 



Alexander Pope, 



his bottle of Burgundy and was exceedingly gay and enter- 
taining. — BoswdL 

Considering the correctness, elegance, and utility of his 
works, the weight of sentiment and the knowledge of man they 
contain, we may venture to assign him a place next to Milton, 
and just above Dry den. — Wart on ^ ''Essay on Pope.^^ 

After all this, it is surely superfluous to answer the question 
that has once been asked, whether Pope was a poet ? otherwise 
than by asking in return, if Pope be not a poet, where is poetry 
to be found ? To circumscribe poetry by a definition will only 
show the narrowness of the definer, though a definition which 
shall exclude Pope will not easily be made. Let us look round 
upon the present time, and back upon the past ; let us inquire 
to whom the voice of mankind has decreed the wreath of 
poetry ; let their productions be examined and their claims 
stated, and the pretensions of Pope will be no more disputed. 
— yohnson. 

I remember also distinctly (though I have not for this the 
authority of my journal) that the conversation going on con- 
cerning Mr. Pope, I took notice of a report that had been 
sometimes propagated, that he did not understand Greek. 
Lord Bathurst said to me that he knew that to be false, for that 
part of the " Iliad " was translated by Mr. Pope in his house in 
the country ; and that in the morning when they assembled at 
breakfast, Mr. Pope used frequently to repeat with great rapture 
the Greek lines which he had been translating, and then to 
give them his version of them and to compare them together. — 
Dr. Blair} 

If the author of the Dunciad " be not a humourist, if the 
poet of the " Rape of the Lock'' be not a wit, who deserves to 
be called so ? Besides that brilliant genius and immense fame, 
for both of which we should respect him, men of letters should 
admire him as being the greatest literary artist that England 
has seen. — Thackeray, 

^ Pope and Dr. Bentley one day met at dinner. Pope being greatly 
anxious to receive the opinion of that eminent scholar on his translation of 
*' Homer," said, " Dr. Bentley, I ordered my bookseller to send you your 
books. I hope you have received them." Bentley, who was unwilling to 
express his judgment, pretended not to understand him. " Books, books ?" 
he exclaimed ; "what books ?" " My ' Homer,' " replied Pope, "which 
you did me the honour to subscribe for." "Oh, now I recollect," said 
Bentley, " your translation. It is a pretty poem, Mr. Pope ; but you must 
not call it ' Homer.' "—Ed. 



Alexander Pope — John Gay, 183 



The ladies' plaything and the muse's pride. — Aaron Hill, 

Whose life, severely scann'd, transcends his lays, 
For wit supreme is but his second praise. — Mallet, 

We owe to the deformities of Pope's person the inimitable 
beauties of his elaborate verse. — /. D' Israeli. 

The imitative powers of Pope, who possessed more industry 
than genius — though his industry was nearly equal to that of 
the greatest poets — has contrived to render every line faultless ; 
yet it may be said of Pope that his greatest fault consists in 
having none. — Ibid, 

The true deacon of the craft.— .S/r W, Scott, 

Pope is not to be compared to Dryden for varied harmony 
of versification, nor for ease. — Rogers, 

He is a creature that reconciles all contradictions j he is a 
beast and a man ; a Whig and a Tory ; a miter (at one and the 
same time) of Guardians and Examiners ; an asserter of liberty 
and of the dispensing power of kings ; a Jesuitical professor of 
truth j a base and a foul pretender to candour. — Leiais 
Theobald. 

August 17th, 1749: Mr. George Faulkner, of Dublin, told 
me that Dr. Swift had long conceived a mean opinion of Mr. 
Pope on account of his jealous, peevish, avaricious nature. 
The Doctor gave Mr. Pope the property of his ^' Gulliver," which 
he sold the copy of for 300/. ; and gave up to him, in 1727, his 
share of the copy of the three volumes of their Miscellanies," 
which came to 150/. The Doctor was angry with Mr. Pope 
for his satire upon Mr. Addison, whom the former esteemed as 
an honest, generous and friendly man. — Dr, Birch, 

John Gay.^ 
1688-1732. 

While a particle of taste remains among us, his songs, lively, 
witty, humorous, elegant, tender, and pathetic, will certainly be 
remembered, and must always please. — Ritson, 



^ Jokii Gay was a pale star that shone in a constellation of extraordinary 
brilliance ; and pale as were his rays half that poor lustre was due to the 
general blaze by which he was surrounded. He was a man of superficial 
learning, an indifferent poet, and of strong hysterical tendencies. He has 



Jolm Gay, 



Gay was quite a natural man, wholly without art or design, 
and spoke just what he thought and as he thought it. — Pope, 

Gay was never designed by Providence to be more than 
two-and-twenty by his thoughtlessness and gullibiUty. — 
Siuift, 

He wrote with neatness and terseness, cequali quadam 



been aptly compared to a lap-dog ; but he was a lap-dog without teeth, with 
the very faintest bark, and with a tail that incessantly wagged. By this 
active tail he was propelled through life as a boat is sculled through the 
water by an oar. The dainty carpets he had the happiness to tread kept 
his paws clean ; so that no one could object to be fawned upon by so very 
sleek, so very proper, so very a well-kept little animal. Dukes and 
duchesses made a pet of him ; great wits stroked his sleek coat ; into what- 
ever company he came he was at least sure of his plate of meat carefully 
cut by the white hand of the hostess. He had his bed made for him on 
satin cushions ; the faint music of his soft bow-wow, regulated by the baton 
of his tail ^^•hich for ever swayed behind him, was always a welcome sound. 
It was quite impossible to meet him without stooping to pat him. 

Mr. Gay was sent behind the counter when he was a lad. To throw up 
yards of silk before the ladies; to listen to their objections ; to hasten up 
ladders and descend with fresh samples of his master's wares for them to 
select from ; to open the door and bow to them as they passed out ; were 
occupations for which Mr. Gay was eminently fitted. His pleasant smile 
could not have failed to have made him in time an opulent tradesman. 
But young Gay had a spirit above the counter. Through the slit in the 
till, he had long and earnestly looked at what he took to be a superior 
calling to that of measuring silk, and resolved to become Poet. He there- 
fore set to work to make himself as objectionable as he could ; he ceased to 
wag his tail ; he was reluctant in the discharge of his duty ; he might even 
have become dissipated, stayed out an hour or two beyond his time, and 
by evening prowls about Covent Garden and the Mall have collected those 
experiences which he long after embodied in his poem of "Trivia." His 
master quickly found that it was impossible to reconcile the character of the 
haberdasher and the poet. The mercer might indeed break through the 
bard ; but as a nile the bard prevailed, just as gin prevails when mixed with 
water. Finding that his business suffered, the mercer turned his clerk out. 
But Gay was a man not likely to be long out of place ; he had all the quali- 
ties which constitute a pleasant, though not perhaps, a useful servitor ; he was 
sleek, amiable, smiling. The Duchess of Monmouth finding the pretty 
creature unclaimed, had him brought to her, and appointed him her secre- 
tary. This was very well for a commencement. It is true that her Grace 
treated him rather as a footman than a poet ; but, fortunately for Gay, his 
sensibilities had been well-disciplined as a counter-clerk ; he took the 
broadest and most comfortable views of life, careless of the conduct of 
others so long as he was himself in a position which no one could possibly 
affirm to be menial. In the service of the duchess he had plenty of leisure, 
and by this leisure he showed how much he had profited by producing a 
poem which he called *' Rural Sports," which he dedicated to Mr. Pope. 
Pope had not yet achieved much reputation, although the ' ' Essay on 



John Gay, 



mediocritate^ but certainly without any elevation, frequently 
without any spirit. — Warton. 

Gay was the Orpheus of highwaymen.— C^?//r/^;^^rK. 

The " Beggar's Opera " is a proof how strangely people will 
differ in opinion about a literary performance. Burke thinks 
it has no merit. — Sir JosJma Reynolds, 

That St. Giles's lampoon, the Beggar's Opera. 



Criticism" had been praised by the Spectator, and had given occasion 
to Dennis for some of his many bmtal though never dull attacks. Gay 
marked the rising star and turned his face towards it with all proper 
humility. 

Pope took a warm fancy for the sleek, smiling, good-natured bard; intro- 
duced him to his friends ; admitted him into his confidence ; wrote letters to 
him with the familiarity and perhaps the fondness of a brother. 

Here commenced Gay's introduction into the society of that refulgent 
"circle which has earned for the reign of Anne the title of the Augustan age. 
The members of this circle were not numerous. They were Pamell, a poet 
of much sweetness ; Garth, praised by Pope as a good Christian without 
knowing it ; Rowe, the translator of the " Pharsalia Addison and Swift ; 
Arbuthnot, a man of the most luminous genius ; and Bolingbroke, the 
haughty and irascible, of great but misused powers as a statesman and a 
dialectician. Gay was loved by all these men. Among them his visits 
were always welcome. Upon the loneliness of Swift, upon the solitude of 
that pitiless spirit in which baleful presences stirred, generated by the 
remorseless heart upon which the noblest love of woman beat but to 
break, Gay came like a flood of sunshine. Pope basked in his genial 
presence ; Garth celebrated him in an Anacreontic epistle of which the flat- 
tery is exquisite. Who does not envy this man, possessed not only of the 
secret of collecting but of keeping such friends about him? It was the 
achievement of sheer amiability. There was nothing in him to command 
admiration, fortunately for him, — it was the wagging of the tail that did it 
all. He was a toy to be played with. No one could be serious with 
honest John. To Gay, poetry might have been an important business ; and 
if no one else believed in his genius, Gay did. But his friends took his 
compositions and sported over them as parents sport over the first scrib- 
blings of a precocious child. One added a line, another a song ; one 
altered a couplet, another erased an act ; and Gay stood by smiling in- 
cessantly, his eyes half serious, half merry, interrogating the faces of those 
about him with a comical earnest look, like a great spoilt child that he was. 
His friends durst not have taken such liberties with each other; they might 
indeed drop faint hints with a half-unconscious air, but these hints might 
just as well have been respectful salutations to a superior genius. But they 
clapped Johnny Gay on the back ; they roared with laughter over his sim- 
plicity ; and he joined in the laughter, roaring loudest of all. 

Few lived a life more placid and yet eventful in a small, still way, than 
Gay. From the counter-clerk bowing with obsequious grins across the till, 
to the companion, the intimate, the well-loved friend of great peers and 
great poets, was a mighty stretch which Gay could certainly never have 
achieved by his poetical powers only. He laughed himself into every one's 



i86 



John Gay. 



When Fame did o'er the spacious plain, 

The lays she once had learn'd repeat 3 

Or listen'd to the tuneful strain, 

And wonder'd who could sing so sweet ; 

'Twas thus : the Graces held the lyre, 

Th' harmonious strain the muses strung. 

The Loves and Smiles compos'd the choir. 

And Gay transcrib'd what Phoebus sung. — Dr, Garth, 



heart ; his beaming countenance made a sunshine about him ; and in his 
absence his friends seemed to find that something of the gaiety, something 
of the brightness of life had been eclipsed. Swift, influenced by a pre- 
sentiment of evil, which a few years before he would perhaps have sarcas- 
tically ridiculed as a human infimiity, not indeed so great as love, but as 
great perhaps as friendship, suffered the letter in which Pope told him of 
Gay's death to lie unopened for a week. The lamentation of Pope was 
sincere : "One of the nearest and longest ties I have ever had," he wrote, 
*'is broken all on a sudden by the unfortunate death of poor Mr. Gay. 
An inflammatory fever carried him out of this life in three days. . . . Good 
God ! how often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? In every 
friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part. God keep those we 
have left ! Few are worth praying for, and one's self the least of all." Of 
all Gay's friends. Pope had indeed been the most constant, the most gentle, 
the most eager and incessant in his efforts to promote his welfare. And of 
all Pope's epitaphs, the epitaph on Gay seems the only one ^^'hich he wrote 
direct from the heart. 

Yet strong as are the testimonies to Gay's power of exciting esteem, his 
character is hardly one for which much respect can be entertained. He 
had a great deal more of the woman about him than the man. He was 
absurdly helpless ; narrowly scanning for its opinion each face he en- 
countered as he pressed forward ; gazing mefully, almost tearfully about 
him when alone, like some nervous female in the mazes of London. He 
had no strength of mind ; no dignity of sentiment ; no power of helping 
himself. He was formed to lie on Turkey carpets, to repose on the laps of 
duchesses, to be daintily fed and perpetually caressed. His women friends 
made a whim of him, as they made a whim of Jocko the monkey, or the 
black footboy who followed them with their Prayer-book to church. His 
mind was soft, fat, flabby ; it was without muscle, or sinew, or sap. He 
agreed with eveiybody, always pleasantly smiling as he assented; but 
assenting perhaps not so much from sycophancy or respect for the society 
that endured him, as from incapacity to oppose — as from emptiness of 
original ideas. 

Gay's poetiy is adorned by no unborrowed graces, and his comedies are 
weak in their construction, feeble in their wit, and without humour. His 
"Trivia" is indeed a clever, a lively, a valuable perfomiance, abounding 
in graphic descriptions and serviceable as the best picture of the Metropolis, 
as it appeared in Gay's time, that has been handed doA\T.i. But as a poem 
it is deformed by long and absurd digressions. He sets the agencies of a 
stale mytholog}^ to v\'ork to account for the existence of things so truly small 



John Gay, 



We owe to Gay the ballad opera, a mode of comedy which 
at first was supposed only to delight by its novelty, but has 
now, by the experience of half a century, been found so well 
accommodated to the disposition of a popular audience, that it 
is likely to keep long possession of the stage. Whether this 
new drama was the product of judgment or luck, the praise of 
wit must be given to the inventor ; and there are many writers 
read with more reverence, to whom such merits of originality 
cannot be attributed.— Z^r. yohnson. 



and commonplace that they positively vulgarize the poetry in which they 
are fomid. Thus, he calls upon his muse not to forget "the patten's 
praise;" and his muse thus appealed to falls to labouring thus: — Patty,- 
Ave are told in heroics, is the daughter of a goodly yeoman ; it is her busi- 
ness to milk the cows, which compels her so often as she sets out to 
"stroke the udder" to walk down a "miry lane." Vulcan, struck by 
her beauty and her innocence (which by the way he very soon corrupts) 
falls in love with her. Abandoning his " Paphian spouse," he descends 
from the celestial heights, possesses himself of a hut, and sets to work to 
forge a pair of pattens for Patty : 

Here smokes his forge, he bares his sinewy arm, 
And early strokes the sounding anvil warm ; 
Around his shop the steely sparkles flew, 
As for the steed he shap'd the bending shoe. 

Straying near, Patty watches him at his v-ork ; the begrimed god solicits a 
kiss ; Patty coyly refuses, but after a little submits to his embraces. She 
then puts on the pattens : 

Straight the new engine on the anvil glows, 

And the pale virgin on the patten rose. 

No more her lungs are shook with drooping rheums, 

And on her cheek reviving beauty blooms. 

The god obtained his suit; though flattery fail, 

Presents with female virtue must prevail : 

The patten now supports each frugal dame, 

Which from the blue- eyed Patty takes its name. 

Let nonsense go further than this if it can. No less cumbrous, un- 
necessary, and absurd is the account of the origin which Gay contrives for 
the shoe-black, which he assigns to an amour between a goddess and a 
dustman. It is as the author of the " Beggar's Opera" (which Byron called 
a St. Giles's lampoon) and the ballads of "Black-ey'd Susan" and "'Twas 
when the seas were roaring " that Gay is remembered. Than his bal- 
lads indeed nothing can be sweeter or simpler. In them he has broken 
through the conventional restraints of an age in which the Muse wore a 
full-bottomxcd wig and took snuff with the courtly urbanity of a Chester- 
field ; and with his ear straining to catch the language of his heart, sings 
songs full of nature and svv^eetness. But here praise must end ; for in his 
" Rural Sports," the " Shepherd's Week," "The Fan," and the '"Fables," 



i88 John Gay — Samuel Richardson, 



The most good-natured and simple of mankind. — Macaulay. 

The six pastorals called the Shepherd's Week," and the 
burlesque poem of " Trivia," any man fond of lazy literature 
will find delightful at the present day, and must read from 
beginning to end with pleasure. They are to poetry what 
charming little Dresden china figures are to sculpture ; 
graceful, minikin, fantastic ; with a certain beauty always 
accompanying them. The pretty little personages of the 
pastorals, with gold clocks to their stockings, and fresh satin 
ribands to their crooks and waistcoats, and boddices, dance 
their loves to a minuet tune, played on a bird organ, approach 
the charmer, or rush from the false one daintily on their red- 
heeled tip-toes, and die of despair and rapture with the most 
pathetic httle grins and ogles ; or repose, simpering at each 
other, under an arbour of pea-green crockery. — Thackeray, 

His Pastorals are about as bad as his Beggar's Opera/' — 
vulgar both — if vulgarity there ever were on earth, in town or 
country. — Blackwood's Magazine^ i833- 

Samuel Richardson. 
1689-1761. 

I loathe the cant which can recommend Pamela " and 
^' Clarissa Harlowe " as strictly moral, although they poison the 
imagination of the young with continued doses of tinct. lythe^ 
while ^^Tom Jones" is prohibited as loose. — Coleridge. 

Richardson could not be contented to sail quietly down the 
stream of reputation, without longing to taste the froth from 
every stroke of the oar. — JoJmso7i, 

Richardson had little conversation, except about his own 
works, of which Sir Joshua Reynolds said he was always willing 
to talk. — Laugton, 

Richardson is the first of our novelists who set the fashion 
of concentrating all the interest of human life upon the war 
between man and woman. — Lord Lyttoiu 

Thought what fame was on reading in a case of murder that 



he exhibits himself as a poet who has failed even to master that tricky 
versification which make the poems of Addison, of Phillips, of Fenton, 
Walsh, and Granville look as though they were all the compositions of one 
weak mind. — Ed. 



Samuel Richardson. 



189 



"Mr. Wych, grocer at Tunbridge, sold some bacon, flour, 
cheese, and, it is believed some plums, to some gipsy women 
accused. He had on his counter (I quote faithfully) a book, 
the * Life of Pamela/ which he was tearing for waste-paper, &c. 
In the cheese was found, &c., and a leaf of 'Pamela' wrapt 
around the bacon What would Richardson, the vainest and 
luckiest of living authors while alive) — he who, with 

Aaron, used to prophecy and chuckle over the presumed fall 
of Fielding (the prose Homer of human nature), and of Pope 
(the most beautiful of poets) — what would he have said, could 
he have traced his pages from their place on the French 
prince's toilets (see Boswell's " Johnson ") to the grocer's 
counter and the gipsy murderer's bacon ! ! ! — Byron, 

Except by " Clarissa Harlowe," I was never so moved by a 
work of genius as by "Othello." I read seventeen hours a day 
at "Clarissa," and held the book so long up, leaning on my elbows 
in an arm-chair, that I stopped the circulation and could not 
move. When Lovelace writes, " Dear Belton, it is all over, and 
Clarissa lives," I got up in a fury, and wept like an infant, and 
cursed and d — d Lovelace till exhausted. This is the triumph 
of genius over the imagination and heart of its readers. — 
Haydon. 

In my youth " Clarissa " and " Sir Charles Grandison " were 
the reigning entertainment. Whatever objections may be made 
to them in certain respects, they contain more maxims of virtue 
and sound moral principle than half the books called moral. 
A large volume of valuable aphorisms has been collected from 
them, abounding in practical lessons for the conduct. — Hannah 
More. 

Clearness of sight we may call the foundation of all talent ; 
for, in fact, unless we see our object, how shall we know how 
to place or prize it in our understanding, our imagination, or 
our affections ; yet it is not in itself, perhaps, a very high ex- 
cellence, but capable of being united indifferently with the 
strongest or with ordinary powers. Homer surpasses all men 
in this quality ; but, strangely enough, at no great distance 
below him are Richardson and Defoe. It belongs in truth to 
what is called a lively mind, and gives no sure indication of 
the higher endowments that may exist along with it. In all 
the three cases mentioned it is combined with great garrulity : 
their descriptions are detailed, ample, and tediously exact. 
Homer's fire bursts through from time to time as by accident ; 



190 Sam II el R ichardson— Charles Macklm, 



but Defoe and Richardson have no fire, only a clear insight 
into the goings on of nature. — Thomas Carlyle, 

Blest be the shade of Richardson, who bequeathed to us the 
divine " Clarissa," shining through sufferings, glorious in her 
fall, and almost visible in her ascent to the regions of immor- 
tality. Matchless creation of the only mind that ever conceived 
and drew truly a Christian heroine. With all her sex's soft- 
ness, loveliness, and grace, and all the self-devotion, undevia- 
ting rectitude, and lively faith of the primitive martyrs ! What 
are his numerous blemishes but dust in the balance when 
compared to his endless beauties? But then his faults are 
obvious to every common mind, and no common mind takes 
in his merits. — Mrs. Granfs ''^ Letters T 

Fielding couldn't do otherwise than laugh at the puny, 
cockney bookseller pouring out endless volumes of sentimental 
twaddle, and hold him up to scorn as a moll-coddle and a 
milksop. His genius had been nursed on sack-posset, and 
not on dishes of tea. His muse had sung the loudest in tavern 
choruses, had seen the daylight streaming in over thousands 
of emptied bowls, and reeled home to chambers on the 
shoulders of the watchmen. Richardson's goddess was attended 
by old maids and dowagers, and fed on muffins and bohea. 

Milksop !" roars Harry Fielding, clattering at the timid shop- 
shutters. " Wretch ! Monster ! Mohock !" shrieks the senti- 
mental author of Pamela and all the ladies of his court 
cackle out an affrighted chorus. — Thacko'ay} 

Charles Macklin.^ 
1690-1797. 

Macklin, who largely deals in half-form'd sounds, 
Who wantonly transgresses nature's bounds, 



1 This to be sure is droll, but it is bad criticism. Miss Charlotte Bronte 
very properly banned the whole lecture on Fielding. *'That Thackeray 
^Yas wrong in his way of treating Fielding's character and vices, my con- 
science told me. After reading that letter, I trebly felt that he was wrong. 
Had Thackeray o^Mied a son, gro^m or growing up, and a son brilliant but 
reckless, would he have spoken in that light way of courses that lead to 
disgrace and the grave 

2 Charles IMacklin is best kno^ni by his Man of the World," a comedy 
which is second only to the ^'School for Scandal" and *'She Stoops to 



Charles Macklin. 



191 



Whose acting's hard, affected, and constrained, 
Whose features, as each other they disdained, 
At variance set, inflexible and coarse, 
Ne'er know the workings of united force, 
Ne'er kindly soften to each other's aid. 
Nor show the mingled power of light and shade ; 
No longer for a thankless stage concern'd, 
To worthier thoughts his mighty genius turn'd, 
Harangu'd, gave lectures, made each sample elf 
Almost as good a speaker as himself — ChtcrchilL 

His mind was as rough and durable as his body. His aspect 
and address confounded his inferiors ; and his delight in making 
others fear and admire him gave him an aversion to those who 
were his superiors. — Thomas Holcroft, 

He was a most striking and remarkable character, and one 
that stands out very distinctly during the long course of his 
whole career, which stretched over nearly ninety years. He 
was quarrelsome, overbearing, even savage ; always in either 
revolt or conflict, full of genius, and a spirit that carried him 
through a hundred misfortunes. — P, Fitzgerald. 

At this time Charles Mathews sought an interview with the 
celebrated Charles Macklin, who had then attained a hundred 
years and upwards. He had been recommended to recite to 
him for the purpose of gaining the veteran's opinion and 
instructions ; and going by appointment to the residence of 
the aged man in Tavistock Row, he found him ready to receive 
him. There was Macklin in his arm-chair ; and when the door 
opened and the youth was announced, he did not attempt to 
rise, nor, indeed, take any notice of the entrance of the 
stranger, but remained with an arm on either elbow of the 
chair he sat in, looking sour and severe at his expected pupil, 
who, hesitating on the threshold, paused timidly, nay fear- 
fully, which occasioned the centenary to call out in any but 
inviting tones, Come 7iearer I What do you stand there foil 
You can't act in the gap of the door." The young man 
approached. " Well," added Macklin, in a tone ill-calculated 
to inspire confidence, ''now let me hear you. Don't be 
afraid f His crabbed austerity completely chilled the 



Conquer." His long life may be said to have been the history of the drama 
of the eighteenth century.— Ed. 



Charles Mackliru 



aspirant's ardour ; however, mustering up all the confidence 
this harsh reception had left him, he began to declaim accord- 
ing to the approved rule of ^'speech days." Macklin, sitting 
like a stern judge waiting to pronounce sentence upon a 
criminal, rather than to laud a hero, soon interrupted the speech 
with a mock-imitation of the novice's monotonous tones, bark- 
ing out, Bow, wow, wow, wow This was enough to damp 
the Thespian flame which had lighted the poor youth into the 
presence of the terrible old man, and he felt himself unable to 
make another essay, but stood, with downcast eyes and swelling 
heart, awaiting the verdict which he expected. At last Macklin, 
with increasing severity of manner and voice, asked, " Young 
man, are you at all aware what the qualifications of an actor 
should be?" The youth sighed out, "I believe not, sir." Mack- 
lin : " No, I am sure you do not. I will tell you then, sir. I will 
tell you what he ought to be ; what /was ; and what no man 
was ever eminent without being. In the first place, an actor 
ought to possess a fine, an expressive eye, ^ an eye like Mars to 
threaten and command.'" (His own flatly contradicted his 
assertion.) Sir, he should have a beautiful countenance. He 
should be able to assume a look that might appal the devil." 
(Here indeed he had one requisite in full force.) " He should 
possess a fine, clear, mellifluous voice !" (Alas ! his own 
sounded like a cracked trumpet.) ^^A graceful figure, sir." 
(The lean and slippered pantaloon was an Apollo Belvidere to 
Macklin.) " But above all, young man — above all — an actor — 
should — possess — that — first — great — natural — requisite — that 

— test — of — genius — a good — a good ^S/r," added he, in a 

loud and angry voice, as if commanding assistance, " I want a 
word! — he should, I say, possess a good retentive " 

Memory," cried out the young man. ^' Ay, sir, memory." — 

Memoirs of Charles Mathews ^ 

Macklin was the first natural Shylock — 

The Jew 

That Shakspeare drew."^ — " Life of Reynolds, ^'^ 



^ This distich was written by Pope on Macklin's Othella." — Ed. 



193 



Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. 
1690-1762. 

Since our country has been honour'd with the glory of your 
wit, as elevated and immortal as your soul, it no longer re- 
mains a doubt whether your sex have a strength of mind in 
proportion to their sweetness. There is something in your 
verses as distinguish'd as your air. They are as strong as 
truth, as deep as reason, as clear as innocence, and as smooth 
as beauty. They contain a pecuhar and nameless mixture of 
force and grace, which is at once so movingly serene and so 
majestically lovely, that it is too amiable to appear anywhere 
but in your eyes and in your writings. — Savaged 
Though Artemisia talks by fits 
Of councils, classics, fathers, wits. 

Reads Malebranche, Boyle, and Locke : 
Yet in some things methinks she fails, — 
'Twere well if she would pare her nails 
And wear a cleaner smock. — Pope, 
But if the first Eve 
Hard doom did receive, 
When only one apple had she, 
What punishment new 
Shall be found out for you 
Who tasting has robbed the whole tree ? — Ibid. 

She was an extraordinary woman ; she could translate 
EpictetuSy and yet write a song worthy of Aristippus. The 
lines — 

And when the long hours of the pubUc are past, 
And we meet with champagne and a chicken at last, 
May every fond moment that pleasure endear ! 
Be banish'd afar both discretion and fear ! &c. 

There, Mr. Bowles ! — ^what say you to such a supper with 
such a woman? and her own description too? Is not her 
" champagne and chicken" worth a forest or two ? Is it not 



Elsewhere Savage sings : — 

Thus in the dame each nobler grace we find, 
Fair Wortley's angel accent, eyes, and mind. — The WaHderer, 

O 



194 L ady M ontagtt — Bishop Butler, 



poetry? It appears to me that this stanza contains the puree'''' 

of the whole philosophy of Epicurus After all, would not 

some of us have been as great fools as Pope ? For my part, 
I wonder that with his quick feelings, her coquetry, and his 
disappointment, he did no more — instead of writing some lines 
which are to be condemned, if false, and regretted, if true. — 
Byron. 

With regard to the indelicacy of Lady Mary's letters, no 
thinking person can exonerate her from having had a corrupted 
mind, whatever her conduct may or may not have been. 
Neither do we accept the late Lord Wharncliffe's excuse, that 
it was in accordance with the feeling of the times that Lady 
Mary indulged in double entendre^ and in expressions neither to 
be written nor uttered by modest women. — Grace Wharton, 

The glory of her own sex, and the wonder of ours. — Fieldi?ig. 

Did I tell you Lady Mary Wortley is here ? She laughs at 
my Lady Walpole, scolds my Lady Pomfret, and is laughed at 
by the whole town. Her dress, her avarice and her impudence 
must amaze any one that never heard her name. She wears a 
foul mob that does not cover her greasy black locks that hang 
loose, never combed or curled ; an old mazarine blue wrapper 
that gapes open, and discovers a canvass petticoat. Her face 
swelled violently on one side, her .... partly covered with a 
plaster and partly with white paint, which for cheapness she 
has bought so coarse that you would not use it to wash 
a chimney. — Horace Walpole. 

Lady Mary is one of the most shining characters in the 
world, but shines like a comet. She is all irregularity, and 
always wandering ; the most wise, the most imprudent ; 
loveliest, most disagreeable \ best-natured, crudest woman in 
the world, "all things by turns, but nothing long." — Spe^ice. 

Thy poems are little, being but a little wit in rhyme, vers de 
societe; but thy prose is much — admirable, better than acute, 
idiomatical, off-hand, conversational without inelegance, fresh 
as the laugh on the young cheek, and full of brain. — Leigh 
Himt, 

Bishop Butler. 
1692-1752. 

The Bishop of Durham (Chandler), another great writer of 
controversy, is dead too, immensely rich ; he is succeeded by 



Bishop Butler— Orator^^ Henley. 



Butler of Bristol, a metaphysic author, much patronized by the 
late Queen : she never could make my father read his book, 
and which she certainly did not understand herself.— Zr^?r<^(;^ 
Walpole, 

Wilberforce requested Pitt to read Butler's Analogy." Pitt 
did so : and was by no means satisfied with the reasoning in 
it. " My dear Wilberforce," he said, you may prove any- 
thing by analogy."— " Table Talk:' 

To his sermons we are indebted for the complete overthrow 
of the selfish system, and to his " Analogy " for the most noble 
and surprising defence of revealed religion, perhaps, which has 
ever yet been made of any system whatever. — Sydney Smith, 

That there is such a thing as a course of nature none can 
deny. This, therefore, is the ground on which Butler takes 
his stand, whereon he fixes a lever that shakes the strongholds 
of unbelief even to their foundations ; for on comparing this 
scheme of nature with the scheme of revelation there is found 
a most singular correspondence between their several parts, — ^ 
such a correspondence as gives very strong reason to beUeve 
that the author of one is the author of both. The argument, 
indeed, does not amount to proof, but to presumption. It is as 
though the parentage of a foundling were to be made the 
subject of inquiry : now that it is the child of such or such a 
parent — of the one or other of the two women, for instance, 
that strove before Solomon — can indeed only be made out 
effectually by the production of certain matters of fact, in 
evidence ; but at the same time, if it manifestly resembles a 
certain son of a parent in question — ^one face, one voice, one 
habit, and two persons' — this circumstance, though it would 
not of itself prove the point in dispute, would very greatly cor- 
roborate the proofs derived from other and independent sources, 
and would overcome many scruples which might otherwise 
arise in the mind of judge or jury, as to any supposed deficiency 
in the proofs themselves. Such is the value of the argument 
from analogy. — Quarterly Revieiv^ 1830. 

Orator'' Henley. 

1692- 1756. 

As quacks the lying puff the papers fill, 
Or hand their own praise in a pocky bill, 

o 2 



1X7 



196 



" Orator Henley, 



Where empty boasts of much superior sense 
Draw from the cheated crowd their idle pence, 
So the great Henley hires for half-a-crown 
A quack advertisement to tell the town 
Of some strange point to be disputed on ; 
Where all who love the science of debate 
May hear themselves or other coxcombs prate. 

Dodsley} 

He edited a paper of nonsense called the Hip Doctor," 
and once attracted to his oratory an audience of shoemakers 
by announcing that he would teach a new and short way of 
making shoes ; his way being to cut oft' the tops of boots. — 
Professor Morley. 

John Henley, a native of Leicestershire, had graduated at 
Cambridge, but filled, as it would appear, with overweening 
vanity and assurance, he defied the authority of the Established 
Church, and not only set up a new religious scheme, which he 
called Primitive Christianity, but, with a mere smattering of 
knowledge, undertook to teach and lecture upon all sciences, 
all languages, and in fact, all subjects whatever, on which, to 
judge from all accounts, he must have talked a great deal of 
unintelligible rigmarole. On the 14th of May, 1726, Henley 
first advertised his scheme in the public newspapers, and on 
the loth of July, having taken a licence from a magistrate to 
deliver public lectures, he established what he called his 
*' Oratory" in a sort of wooden booth, built over the shambles 
in Newport-market. — Wright. 



^ Robert Dodsley (bom 1703), from being a footman became not only 
an opulent and eminent bookseller, but a respectable poet. He was for 
some time footman to one Dartineuf, a man known to his age as a voluptuary 
and a friend of Pope. " When Lord Lyttleton's ' Dialogues of the Dead' 
came out," said Johnson, "one of which is between Apicius, an ancient 
epicure, and Dartineuf, a modern epicure, Dodsley said to me, * I knew 
Dartineuf well, for I was his footman.'" The fact of his having been a 
servant procured for him from Curll the nickname of " The Livery Muse," 
a title which has steadily adhered. Anderson has written his life in his 
*' British Poets." " He was," says he, " a generous friend, an encourager of 
men of genius, and acquired the esteem and respect of all who knew him. 
It was his happiness to pass the greatest part of his life in an intimacy with 
men of the brightest abilities, whose names will be revered by posterity ; 
by most of whom he was loved as much for the virtues of his heart, as he 
was admired on account of his writings." He died 1764. — Ed. 



" Orator Henley — Lord Chesterfield. 1 97 



Imbrown'd with native bronze, lo ! Henley stands, 
Tuning his voice and balancing his hands. 
How fluent nonsense trickles from his tongue ! 
How sweet the periods neither said nor sung !^ — Pope, 

In the " Oratory Transactions'' of that eccentric character, 
John Henley, better known by the appellation of Orator 
Henley," he tells us, that on his first coming to London he 
preached more charity sermons about town, was more nume- 
rously followed, and raised more for the poor than any other 
preacher, however dignified or distinguished. One of his 
special merits, according to his own account, consisted in his 
being the first to introduce regular action into the pulpit; 
but this probably deserves to be ranked with the many other 
things peculiar to Orator Henley, which no mortal ever 
thought of." His popularity and the novelty of his style 
were the true causes, he says, " why some obstructed his rising 
in town, from envy, jealousy, and a disrelish of those who are 
not qualified to be complete spaniels. For there was no 
objection to his being tossed into a country benefice by the 
way of the sea, as far as Galilee of the gentiles (like a pendulum 
swinging one way as far as the other)." Not being able to 
obtain preferment in the Church, he struck out the plan of his 
lectures or orations, discoursing on Sundays on theological 
matters, and on the Wednesdays on all other sciences. — '-''Percy 
Anecdotes,^' 

Lord Chesterfield. 
1694-1773. 

It is by his Letters" that Chesterfield's character as an author 
must stand or fall. Viewed as compositions, they appear 
almost unrivalled as models for a serious epistolary style ; 
clear, elegant, and terse, never straining at effect, and yet never 
hurried into carelessness. AVhile constantly urging the same 
topics, so great is their variety of argument and illustration, 



^ A brief specimen of Henley's jargon is quoted or burlesqued by Smart 
in his notes to the " Hilliad :" — " There is more music in a peal of marrow- 
bones and cleavers than in these verses. I am a logician on fundamentals, 
a rationalist lover of mankind, Glastonberry thorn — huzza, boys ! — wit, a 
vivacious command of all objects and ideas. I am the only wit in Great 
Britain," &c. &c.— Ed. 



Lord Chesteffield. 



that in some sense they appear always different, in another 
sense always the same. They have, however, incurred strong 
reprehension on two separate grounds : first, because some of 
their maxims are repugnant to good morals ; and, secondly, 
as insisting too much on manners and graces, instead of more 
solid acquirements. On the first charge I have no defence to 
offer ; but the second is certainly erroneous, and arises only 
from the idea and expectation of finding a general system of 
education in letters that were intended solely for the improve- 
ment of one man. Young Stanhope was sufficiently inclined 
to study, and imbued with knowledge ; the difficulty lay in his 
awkward address and indifterence to pleasing. It is against 
these faults, therefore, and these faults only, that Chesterfield 
points his battery of eloquence.^ — Lord MaJion, 

Lord Chesterfield's eloquence, the fruit of much study, was 
less characterized by force and compass than by elegance and 
perspicuity, and especially by good taste and urbanity, and a 
vein of delicate irony which, while it sometimes inflicted severe 
strokes, never passed the limits of decency and propriety. It 
was that of a man, who in the union of wit and good sense 
with politeness, had not a competitor. — Ibid, 

He had early in his life announced his claim to wit, and the 
women beUeved in it. He- had besides given himself out as a 
man of great intrigue,- with as slender pretensions; yet the 
women believed in that too: — one should have thought that 
they had been more competent judges of merit in that par- 
ticular ! It was not his fault if he had not wit \ nobody 
exceeded his efforts in that point ; and though they were far 
from producing the wit, they at least amply yielded the ap- 
plause he aimed at. He was so accustomed to see people 



^ How far these letters benefited the person for whom they were designed, 
is told in the following stanzas : — 

Vile Stanhope — Demons blush to tell — 

In twice two hundred places 
Has sho\^Ti his son the road to hell, 

Escorted by the Graces ; 
But little did th' ungenerous lad 

Concern himself about them ; 
For base, degenerate, meanly bad, 

He sneaked to hell without them. 

Mr. Philip Stanhope's character has been championed^ by, Boswell 
Life of Johnson").— Ed. 



Lord Chesterfield, 



199 



laugh at the most trifling thing he said, that he would be 
disappointed at finding nobody smile before they knew what he 
was going to say. His speeches were fine, but as much 
beloved as his extempore sayings. His writings were — every- 
body's ; that is, whatever came out good was given to him, 
and he was too humble ever to refi.ise the gift. — Horace 
Walpole, 

This man, I thought, had been a lord among wits ; but I 
find he is only a wit among lords. — yohnson, 

(His Letters") teach the morals of a whore, and the manners 
of a dancing-master. — Ibid. 

He was allowed by everybody to have more conversable 
entertaining table-wit than any man of his time ; his propensity 
to ridicule in which he indulged himself with infinite humour 
and no distinction ; and his inexhaustible spirits and no dis- 
cretion, made him sought and feared — liked and not loved — by 
most of his acquaintance. — Lord Hervey} 

When I talked my best I quoted Horace ; when I aimed at 
being facetious, I quoted Martial ; and when I had a mind to 
be a fine gentleman, I talked Ovid. I was convinced that 
none but the ancients had common sense ; that the classics 
contained everything that was either necessary, useful, or 
ornamental to men ; and I was not even without thoughts of 
wearing the toga virilis of the Romans, instead of the vulgar 
and illiberal dress of the moderns. — Chesterfield. 

Chesterfield is a little tea-table scoundrel, that tells little 
womanish lies to make quarrels in families ; and tries to make 
women lose their reputatioii and make their husbands beat 



^ Lord Hervey has given the following description of this witty Earl : — 
With a person as disagreeable as it was possible for a human figure to be 
without being deformed, he affected following many women of the first 
beauty and the most in fashion. He was very short, disproportioned, 
thick, and clumsily made : had a broad rough-featured ugly face, with black 
teeth, and a head big enough for a Polyphemus. One Ben Ashurst, who 
said a few good things, though admired for many, told Lord Chesterfield 
once that he was like a stunted giant — which was a humorous idea and 
really apposite." The harsh opinion I have quoted from Johnson cannot 
be accepted as the Doctor's real sentiments ; for elsewhere Boswell reports 
Johnson to have said, speaking of Chesterfield : " His manner was 
exquisitely elegant, and he had more knowledge than I expected." Boswell: 
Did you find, sir, his conversation to be of a superior sort?" Johnson : 
Sir, in the conversation which I had with him, I had the best right to 
superiority, for it was upon philology and literature." — Ed. 



200 Lord Chesterfield — Richard Savage, 



them, without any object but to give himself airs ; as if any- 
body could believe a woman could like such a dwarf-baboon. — 
George II, 

Lord Chesterfield was tinsel. — BosiuelL 

The name of Chesterfield has become a synonym for good 
breeding and politeness ; it is associated in our minds with all 
that is graceful in manner and cold in heart, attractive in ap- 
pearance and unamiable in reality. The image it calls up is 
that of a man rather below the middle height, in a court suit 
and blue riband, with regular features wearing an habitual 
expression of gentlemanlike ease. His address is insinuating, 
his bow perfect, his compliments rival those of Le Graiid 
Monai^qne in delicacy : laughter is too demonstrative for him, 
but the smile of courtesy is ever on his lip ; and by the time 
he has gone through the circle, the great object of his daily 
ambition is accomplished — all the women are already half in 
love with him, and every man is desirous to be his friend. 
But the name recalls little or nothing of the orator, the states- 
man, the wit. We forget that this same little man was one of 
the best Lord Lieutenants Ireland ever knew, the best speaker 
in the House of Lords till Pitt and Murray entered it, one of 
our most graceful essayists, and the wittiest man of quality of 
his time. — EdiiihurgJi Rrciau^ 1845. 

Richard Savage. 
1697-1743. 

An earl's son, a shoemaker's apprentice, who had seen life 
in all its forms, who had feasted among blue ribands in St. 
James's Square, and had lain with fifty pounds weight of iron 
on his legs, in the condemned ward of Newgate. This man 
had, after many vicissitudes of fortune, sunk at last into abject 
and hopeless poverty. His pen had failed him. His patrons 
had been taken away by death, or estranged by the riotous 
profusion with which he squandered their bounty, and the un- 
grateful insolence with which he rejected their advice. He now 
lived by begging. He dined on venison and champagne 
whenever he had been so fortunate as to borrow a guinea. If 
his questing had been unsuccessful, he appeased the rage of 
hunger with some scraps of broken meat, and lay down to rest 
under the Piazza of Co vent Garden in warm weather, and in 



Richard Savage. 



101 



cold weather as near as he could get to the furnace of a glass- 
house. Yet in his misery, he was still an agreeable companion. 
He had an inexhaustible store of anecdotes about that gay and 
brilliant world from which he was now an outcast. He had 
observed the great men of both parties in hours of careless 
relaxation, had seen the Leaders of Opposition without the 
mark of patriotism, and had heard the Prime Minister roar 
with laughter and tell stories not over decent. — Macaulay. 

His character was marked by profligacy, insolence, and 
ingratitude. — BoswelL 

Ill-fated Savage, at whose birth was given 

No parents but the Muse, no friend but heaven. 

R. B. Sheridan. 

The inhumanity of his mother had given him a right to find 
every good man his father. — Steele, 

Though he may not be altogether secure against the objec- 
tions of the critics, it must, however, be acknowledged that his 
works are the productions of a genius truly poetical \ and, 
what many writers who have been more lavishly applauded 
cannot boast, that they have an original air which has no 
resemblance of any foregoing writer, that the versification and 
sentiments have a cast peculiar to themselves, which no man 
can imitate with success, because what was nature in Savage 
would in another be affectation. — yohnson} 



^ The Life of Savage," by Dr. Johnson, was a great favourite with our 
forefathers. Its sturdy though obvious morahty pleased them mightily ; 
they lived near enough to the scenes which it described to feel a lively 
interest in what they read ; and the queer species, of which Savage 
was the type, still flourished. The name of Richard Savage was popular. 
Romantic misses had shed such tears as the novels of Eliza Hey wood were 
calculated to draw over the stoiy of his trials, his mother's desertion, his 
efforts to soften her inhumanity. Husbands had looked sternly at their 
wives as they recounted the frailty of the Countess of Macclesfield. Wives 
had sneered with the Sir Plumes and the Sir Foplings whom they went to 
meet in their chairs over the clumsy contrivance of the mask, the shoemaker, 
and the tender-hearted foster-mother. The poetry of Savage was still current. 
By some " The Wanderer " was preferred to " Paradise Lost," which they 
had read only in the quotations in the Spectator. Others thought it not 
inferior to the " Seasons " of Thomson or the " Creation" of Blackmore, 
which was still looked into for its piety. Passages from the Bastard" 
were quoted to point and illustrate Grub Street morals in Grub Street 
magazines ; and by the enemies of Cibber the poems of the ' ' Volunteer- 
Laureate " were , spouted at the coffee-houses as compositions eminently 



202 



Richard Savage, 



Mr. Richard Savage, an author whose manufactures had 
long lain uncalled for in the warehouse, till he happened, very 
fortunately for his bookseller, to be found guilty of a capital 
crime at the Old Bailey. The merchant instantly took the hint, 
and the very next day advertised the works of Mr. Savage, 
now under sentence of death for murder. This device suc- 
ceeded, and immediately (to use their phrase) carried off the 
whole impression. — Fielding. 

Savage, how sordidly vicious, and the more condemned for 



meriting the salary and the ^\■reat]^. But his celebrity was kept alive more 
by his foes than by his friends. They repeated the anecdotes of his ingrati- 
tude ; they made epigrams upon him as a murderer of whom death had 
unfairly robbed the gallows. By degrees, however, his name became 
neglected ; and his romantic story had almost faded off the public tongue 
when a letter to Mr. Urban, of the Gentleman's Magazine^ announced that 
a life of Mr. Richard Savage would speedily be published by " a person 
^^'ho was favoured v, ith his confidence, and who had received from himself 
an account of most of the transactions which he proposes to mention." 
This life we can hardly now read with patience. We soon grow weary of 
the pompous periods of this solemn biography, clad, according to the 
custom of the time, in a full-bottomed peruke. Yet nothing less stately and 
galleon-like would ha^'e found much favour in the eyes of that generation of 
men, stifily brocaded with the manners which had been imported from 
Versailles by young persons of quality who had performed the grand tour. 
Who reads this memoir now, reads it, I should say, not for its "diction," 
nor for its morality, nor for any interest he may take in its queer hero, but 
for its value as a very respectable picture of eighteenth-century manners. 
As we glance over its pages, the present grows dim, and the past shines out 
like a phantasmagoria. Fleet Street is once more full of citizens in stock- 
ings, plate buttons, and shovel hats. Pert apprentices at shop doors stand 
ogling the trim, bare-bosomed miss that trips with mincing gait along the 
rudely-flagged pavement. Running footmen, in a gloiy of colour and gold, 
make a halo about the coroneted gilt coach that clatters past, bearing some 
titled fair, whose name will be found can-ed with diamonds on many a 
toasting-cup, to the drawing-room or the Mall. Islington and Bayswater 
are green fields, intersected with hedges and pimpled with haycocks, among 
which people dressed like Dresden china figures stmt and labour, chatter 
and make love. There is a procession journeying along Holbom Hill to 
Tyburn, of which the chief attraction is undoubtedly a cart containing an 
ordinary and a malefactor, the ordinary depressed, the malefactor in high 
spirits. At intervals men, demure and sleek-looking, pass with baskets 
on their heads, from which small boys pluck the wigs from the heads of 
uuAvary passengers, who very naturally charge every man but the right one 
with the theft. Beaux are numerous ; skipping along in the fine comedy 
style ; a confusion of periwig, mffles, flat faces, and thin legs. As the night 
descends the west end of the to^m grows pale in an eraption of flambeaux ; 
the east with link-boys' torches. The flambeaux break out in smoky flames 
about the mansions of the great, about the entrances of the theatres, about 
the doors of the clubs and the chocolate houses. Now the coffee-house is 



Richard Savage. 



203 



the pains that are taken to palliate his vices ! Offensive as they 
appear through a veil, how would they disgust without one ! — 
Cowper, 

Did you ever read Savage's beautiful poem of ^^The 
Wanderer ?" If not, do so, and you will see the fault which I 
think attaches to Lord Maxell — a want of distinct precision 
and intelligibility about the story, which counteracts, especially 
with ordinary readers, the effect of beautiful and forcible 
diction, poetical imagery, and animated description. — Scott^ to 
Allan CimningJia7ii. 



beginning to fill with well-shaved men, who soon sit dawdUng over dishes 
of tea, or get thick voices over large tumblers of strong waters. The air 
grows hot and heavy Avith the murmur of voices and the smell of strong 
Virginia. Some tell how my lady was stopped in her post-chaise on her 
way from Bath by the same highwayman who the week before had rifled 
my lord of seventy-two pieces. Others discuss with feigned contempt and 
obvious relish the most equivocal passages in Mr. Henley's discourse last 
night. Others narrate how when Mr. Pope appeared at Drury Lane on 
Tuesday the whole pit applauded him, which was the occasion of Mr. 
Curll's bon-mot to Mr. Ralph. There is the typical Irish Captain, the 
swaggering bully of the epoch, with tarnished lace dropping from his hat, 
and ruffles stained with Burgimdy, for which the score is still unpaid, Avhose 
breath fills a wide circumference mth the aroma of undigested sack-posset, 
boasting in a loud tone of the little milliner who is so jealous that she 
follows him to all the masquerades dressed like a boy. You are to stop his 
vitals, or roast his gizzard, if he can tell how the little milliner knows his 
whereabouts so accurately ; but that may be as it is — and here he Avinks in 
so comical a manner that the decent, sober-looking curate in the corner, 
who sits smoking a long pipe, and listening with suppressed enjoyment to 
the captain's carnal disclosures, is ready to split his sides with laughing. 
Yonder a hollow-eyed, thin man, with a hook nose, black teeth, and a 
broAvn peruke, is reading a fat manuscript poem to a solemn personage in a 
faded scarlet waistcoat, who cannot hear for the hubbub about him, but who 
nods each time he removes his pipe, and with happy ambiguity of meaning 
vows that he is now reminded of Mr. Prior and now of Mr. Gay. All at 
once there is an uproar in the street ; there are shrill yells for the watch, a 
torch flares upon a crowd of pale but not disquieted faces ; a fomi lies quite 
still with his head in the kennel, and a dozen hands are turning and twisting 
a man who has lost his wig and tries to use his sword. But in the coffee- 
house the scene is unchanged : the captain still recites, the curate still pre- 
tends not to hear ; the poet is perhaps a little more fervid, his hearer 
perhaps a little more sleepy. Presently the drawer says that a tradesman of 
Cheapside has been killed by a drunken beau whom he had harassed by 
duns. There are no exclamations of wonder ; the captain perhaps turns a 
little pale ; the curate civilly asks for another dish of tea, and the hubbub 
swells more loudly. — Ed. 



204 



William Hogarth. 

1697-1764. I 

Other pictures we look at; his prints we read. — Charles 
Lamb. 

Everything in his pictures has Hfe and motion in it. Not 
only does the business of the scene never stand still, but every 
feature and muscle is put into full play ; the exact feeling of 
the moment is brought out and carried to its utmost height, 
and then instantly seized and stamped on the canvas for ever. 
—Hazlitf. 

Hogarth : " That fellow Freke is always shooting his bolt | 
absurdly one way or another. Handel is a giant in music ; I 
Greene only alight Florimel kind of a composer." — Ay," says 
our artist's informant, " but at the same time Mr. Freke declared 
you were as good a portrait i)ainter as Vandyck." — There 
he was right," adds Hogarth, " and so, by G — ! I am, give me 
my time and let me choose my subject." — Works. 

The hand of him here torpid lies 
f. That drew th' essential forms of grace, 

Here closed in death th' attentive eyes 
That saw the manners in the face. — Johnson. 

This I may safely assert, that I have done my best to make 
those about me tolerably happy, and my greatest enemy cannot 
say I ever did an intentional injury. — Hogarth. 

I cannot but consider Reynolds superior to Hogarth as a 
painter^ though certainly not as a poet. In the originality of 
his genius Hogarth is not only before Reynolds, but it would be 
difficult to name the painter of any age or country who is 
before Hogarth. — C. R. Leslie. 

No man was ever less of a hero ; you see him before you 
and can fancy what he was — a jovial, honest London citizen, 
stout and sturdy ; a hearty plain-spoken man, loving his laugh, 
his friends, his glass, his roast beef of old England, and having 
a proper bourgeois scorn for French frogs, for mounseers, and 
wooden shoes in general, for foreign fiddlers, foreign singers, 
and above all, for foreign painters, whom he held in the most 
amusing contempt. — Thackeray. 



William Hogarth. 



205 



I do not think it quite justice to say that Hogarth was a 
great comic genius. It is more true that he was a great master 
of the tragedy and comedy of low Hfe. His pictures have 
terrific and pathetic circumstances and even scenes : he was 
a Lillo as well as a Fielding. His sphere, which was 
English low life,, was contracted indeed, compared to that of 
Shakspeare, who ranged tlirough human nature in all times, 
countries, ranks, and forms ; but he resembled Shakspeare in 
the versatility of talent, which could be either tragic or comic. 
— Sir yames Mackintosh, 

Hogarth rose with Richardson and Fielding. The " Rake's 
Progress" is a novel on canvas. The Dutch painters had 
before painted familiar and low scenes, but they were without 
any particular moral tendency ; and it was scenery rather than 
the history of ordinary life which they represented. They were 
masters of the mechanism of their art in which Hogarth was 
totally deficient. Hogarth had extraordinary vigour of sense 
and a quick perception of the ridiculous with somewhat of that 
coarseness and prejudice against sensibility and refinement 
which men of that character are apt to entertain. Horace 
Walpole brought him to dine with Gray, and complained that 
he was seated between tragedy and comedy. They did not 
talk to each other ; which he ought to have foreseen. Gray 
must have shrunk from Hogarth and Hogarth must have 
laughed at Gray. Hogarth and Johnson suited each other 
better. — Ibid. 

A keen and exquisite perception of whatever is ludicrous or 
defective is rarely, most rarely united with a lofty or poetical 
sensibility for elegance and beauty; and Hogarth's mind, 
essentially comic and familiar with awkwardness and affecta- 
tion in all their varying shapes, could only conceive beauty 
through the cold medium of a false and narrow theory, for 
such it is, however ingeniously developed, in his Analysis of 
Beauty." Whatever may be said in praise of waving lines and 
graduated tints — if these are its essential constituents, the 
Quadrant is more beautiful than the Parthenon, and the Flemish 
dames of Rubens are more beautiful than the angels of 
Raphael or the goddesses of Praxiteles, The conclusion is 
inevitable, for those who palliated its absurdity by advocating 
the introduction of Contrasts or Utility, in fact give up the 
principle and only show that they feel the inevitable necessity of 
resorting to a different standard. Such plausible generalities 



2o6 William Hogarth — Bislwp Warburton, 



have misled men more accustomed to disentangle sophistry 
than Hogarth. — Quarterly Reviezu. 

After this admirable artist had spent the greater part of his 
life in an active, busy, and we may add successful attention to 
the ridicule of life ; after he had invented a new species of 
dramatic painting, in which probably he will never be equalled, 
and had stored his mind with infinite materials to explain and 
illustrate the domestic and familiar scenes of common life, 
which v/ere generally and ought to have been always the sub- 1, 
ject of his pencil; he very imprudently, or rather presump- 
tuously, attempted the great historical style It is to be 

regretted that any part of the life of such a genius should be 
fruitlessly employed. — Sir J^. Reynolds^ Discourses P 

Bishop Warburton. , 

1698-1779. 

He was a man of vigorous faculties, a mind fervid and vehe- 
ment, supplied by incessant and unlimited inquiry, with won- 
derful extent and variety of knowledge, which yet had not 1 
oppressed his imagination nor clouded his perspicacity. To 1 
every work he brought a memory full fraught, together \vith a 1 
fancy fertile of original combinations, and at once exerted the 
powers of the scholar, the reasoner, and the wit. But his 
knowledge was too multifarious to be always exact, and his 
pursuits too eager to be always cautious. His abilities gave 
him an haughty confidence, which he disdained to conceal or 
mollify ; and his impatience of opposition disposed him to treat 
his adversaries with such contemptuous superiority as made his 
readers commonly his enemies, and excited against the advocate 
the wishes of some who favoured the cause. — Dr, Johnson. 

I cannot admit the claim of Warburton to be considered as 
a great scholar. He had read widely indeed j but he had no 
accurate knowledge of Greek, and not the smallest taste for 
the finer delicacies of either of the classical languages. His 
attempt to answer Bentley on the question about Zaleucus' laws 
would have disgraced the Christchurch confederacy. His 
theory about the sixth book of Virgil is fit only to be laughed 
at. He scarcely ever translates a passage from the Greek 
without some mistake which really affects the meaning. And, 
though he quotes from a vast range of authors, I cannot help 
suspecting that he generally quotes at second hand. — Macaulay. 



Bishop Warbttrton, 



207 



Had the author of the " Divine Legation of Moses " more 
skilfully appropriated his coarse eloquence of abuse, his cus- 
tomary assurances of the idiotcy, both in head and heart, of all 
his opponents ; if he had employed those vigorous arguments of 
his own vehement humour in the defence of truth acknowledged 
and reverenced by learned men in general ; or if he had con- 
fined them to the names of Chubb, Woolston, and other pre- 
cursors of Mr. Thomas Paine ; we should perhaps still charac- 
terize his mode of controversy by its rude violence, but not so 
often have heard his name used, even by those who have never 
read his writings, as a proverbial expression of learned arro- 
gance. — Coleridge. 

There are at Lord Bathurst's a good many unpubHshed letters 
of Pope, Bolingbroke, &c., which I have turned over. In one 
of them Bolingbroke says that he has no desire to wrestle 
with a chimney-sweep," that is, Warburton.— i^^T^^rj-'i- " Table 
Talkr 

Whatever extravagancies the prolific genius of Warburton 
may have led him into, amidst all his refinements, and dis- 
coveries, and paradoxes, the great principles of the Gospel, as 
they were held and taught by the Reformers, he never lost sight 
of (however he might not. be true to some of inferior impor- 
tance), and any departure from those principles no man was 
more quick to observe or more anxious to reprobate.— 
Quart e^dy Review^ 1829. 

The learned and dogmatic Warburton, who with the autho- 
rity of a theologian, prescribes the motives and conduct of the 
Supreme ^€m.g.— Gibbon, 

Why, when he gets to heaven, he will be seen mounted on 
the tallest horse there, and caUing out to Paul, " Hold my 
stirrup,'^ and to Peter, Bring my ^Yiv^r—Cradock} 

He was so proud, that should he meet 

The twelve Apostles in the street. 

He'd turn his nose up at them all, 

And shove his Saviour from the \Ydl\,—ChtirchilL 



^ Cradock explains to us how *'the Bishop obtained so many low 
anecdotes ; for his conversation as well as some of his letters were at times 
complete comedy." "When tired with controversy," says he, Warburton 
would send to the circulating libraries for basketfuls of all the trash of the 
town, and would laugh by the hour at the absurdities he glanced at." — 
Ed. 



2o8 Bishop Warburton— David Mallet. 



Warburton had that eagle-eyed sagacity which pierces 
through all difficulties and obscurities, and that glow of imagi- 
nation which gilds and irradiates every object it touches. — 
Bishop H2ird, 

David Mallet. 
1700-1765. 

Next Mallet came, ISIallet who knows each art 
The ear to tickle and to soothe tlie heart : 
Who with a goose-quill like a magic rod 
Transforms a Scottisli peer into a god. — Shaw. 

A Scotclnnan of no literary fame, and of infamous character. — 
Macau/ay. 

Having cleared his tongue from his native pronunciation, 
so as to be no longer distinguished as a Scot, he seems inclined 
to disencumber himself from all adherence to his original, and 
took upon liim to change his name from Scotch Malloch to 
English Alallct^ without any imaginable reason or preference 
which the eye or ear can discover. What other proofs he gave of 
disrespect to his native country, I know not ; but it was 
remarked of him that he was the only Scot whom Scotchmen 
did not commend. — yoh?ison} 

His literary reputation was dead long before his natural 
death. — Goldsmith. 

Mallet, in his " Life of Bacon," has forgotten that he was 
a philosopher ; and if he should ^^Tite the Life of the Duke of 
INLarlborough, which he had undertaken to do,^ he would pro- 
bably forget that he was a general. — Warburton, 



^ "Of the late Mr. Mallet he (Johnson) spoke with no great respect: 
said he was ready for any dirty job : that he had wrote against Byng at the 
instigation of the Ministr}% and was equally ready to write for him, pro- 
vided he found his account in it." — Dr. Maxwell. 

2 The portion of the Duchess of Marlborough's will relating to Mallet is 
as follows : — "I desire that ]Mr. Glover and Mr. Mallet, who are to write 
the history of the Duke of Marlborough, may have the use of all papers 
and letters relating to the same, found in any of my houses. And I desire 
that these two gentlemen may ^^Tite the said histor)% that it may be made 
public to the world, how truly the late Duke of Marlborough wished that 
justice should be done to all mankind, who, I am sure, left King James 
with great regret, at a time when 'twas with hazard to himself 3 and if he 



David Mallet. 



209 



He was a great free-thinker, and a very free speaker of his 
free thoughts \ he made no scruple to disseminate his sceptical 
opinions whenever he could with any propriety introduce them. 
At his own table, indeed, the lady of the house (who was a 
staunch advocate for her husband's opinions) would often in 
the warmth of argument say, Sir^ we deists. She once made 
use of this expression in a mixed company to David Hume, 
who refused the intended compliment by asserting that he was 
a very good Christian ; for the truth of which he appealed to a 
worthy clergyman present, and this occasioned a laugh, which 
a little disconcerted the lady and Mr. Mallet. The lecture 
upon the non credenda of the free-thinkers was repeated so 
often, and urged with so much earnestness, that the inferior 
domestics became soon as able disputants as the heads of the 
family. The fellow who waited at table, being thoroughly con- 
vinced that for any of his misdeeds he should have no after- 
account to make, was resolved to profit by the doctrine, and 
made off with many things of value, particularly plate. Luckily 
he was so closely pursued that he was brought back with his 
prey to his master's house, who examined him before some 
select friends. At first the man was sullen, and would answer 
no questions put to him j but being urged to give a reason for 
his infamous behaviour, he resolutely said, Sir, I had heard 
you so often talk of the impossibility of a future state, and that 
after death there was no reward for virtue, or punishment for 
vice, that I was tempted to commit the robbery." " Well 
but, you rascal," replied Mallet, had you no fear of the 
gallows ?" " Sir," said the fellow, looking sternly at his 
master, ^'what is that to you if I had a mind to venture 
that? You had removed my greatest terror; why should I 
fear the lesser?"^ — Tho7nas Davies, 



had been like the patriots of the present times, he might have been all that 
an ambitious man might hope for, by assisting King James to settle Popery 
in England. . . I give to Mr. Glover and to Mr. Mallet 500/. each for 
writing the said history." — Ed. 

^ Gibbon, in his Memoirs," speaks of having been carried to Putney, 
*' to the house of Mr. Mallet, by whose philosophy I was rather scandalized 
than reclaimed,^ This from Gibbon ! — Ed. 



P 



James Thomson. 



1700-1748. 

My own notion is that Thomson was a much wiser man than 
his friends are ^\^^ing to acknowledge. His Seasons" are 
indeed full of elegant and pious sentiments ; but a rank soil, 
nay a dunghill, will produce beautiful flowers. — BoswelL 

Thomson had a true poetical genius, the power of viewing 
everything in a poetical light* His fault is such a cloud of 
words sometimes that the sense can hardly peep through. 
Sheils, who compiled ''Gibber's Lives of the Poets," was one 
day sitting with me. I took down Thomson and read aloud a 
large portion of him, and then asked, "Is not this fine?" 
Sheils having expressed the highest admiration, "Well, sir," 
said I, " I have omitted every other line." — yoJuisoi. 

It (the "Seasons") is a work of inspiration ; much of it is 
written from himself, and nobly from himself — Wo?'dswo7^t/i. 

An elegant and philosophical poet. — Pope. 

A bard here dwelt, more fat tlian bard beseems, 

Who void of envy, guile, and lust of gain, 

On virtue still, and nature*s pleasing themes 

Pour'd forth his unpremeditated strain. — Lord Lyiileton. 

Thomson, in this praise we thy merit see ; 

The tongue that praises merit, praises thee. — Savage, 

A verbose poet. — Golds JuitJi. 

Thomson was admirable in description • but it always seemed 
to me that there was something of aftectation in his style, and 
that his numbers are sometimes not well harmonized. I could 
wish too that he had confined himself to this country; for 
when he describes what he never saw one is forced to read him 
with some allowance for possible misrepresentation. He was, 
however, a true poet, and his lasting fame has proved it. — 
Cowpcr. 

I had rather have written the most absurd lines in Lee,^ 
than " Leonidas "" or the " Seasons." — Horace Walpole. 

There is nothing in the history of verse, from the restoration 
of Charles 11. to the present time (not even in Collins, we 



^ Nathaniel Lee, the dramatist. — Ed. 



2 By Glover. 



James Thomson. 



211 



think, and certainly not in Gray) which can compete with the 
first part of the Castle of Indolence." His account of the 
land of drowsy-head," and — 

Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye, 

of the disappearance of the sons of Indolence, with the 
exquisite simile with which it closes, — the huge covered tables, 
all odorous with spice and wine — the tapestried halls and their 
Italian pictures — the melancholy music — and, altogether, the 
golden magnificence and oriental luxuries of the place, and the 
ministering spirits who — ■ 

Poured all the Arabian heaven npon our flights, 

(an exquisite line) — may stand in comparison with almost 
anything in the circle of poetry. — -Edinburgh Review, 1825. 

The author of " The Castle of Indolence " paid homage in 
that admirable poem to the master passion of his own easy 
nature. Thomson was so excessively lazy that he is recorded 
to have been seen standing at a peach-tree, with both his hands 
in his pockets, eating the fruit as it grew. — ''Percy Anecdotes T 

Thomson was blessed with a strong and copious fancy j he 
has enriched poetry with a variety of new and original images, 
which he painted from nature itself, and from his own actual 
observations ; his descriptions have, therefore, a distinctness 
and truth which are utterly wanting to those of poets who have 
only copied from each other, and have never looked abroad on 
the subjects themselves. Thomson was accustomed to wander 
away into the country for days and for weeks, attentive to 
each rural sight, each rural sound j while many a poet who has 
dealt for years in the Strand has attempted to describe fields 
and rivers, and has generally succeeded accordingly. — Warton, 
'' Essay on Pope^ 

Thomson's genius does not so often delight us by exquisite 
minute touches in the description of nature as that of Cowper. 
It loves to paint on a great scale, and to dash objects off 
sweepingly by bold strokes — such, indeed, as have almost 
always distinguished the mighty masters of the lyre and the 
rainbow. Cowper sets nature before your eyes. Thomson 
before your imagination. Which do you prefer ? Both. Be 
assured that both poets had pored day and night upon her — in 
all her aspects, — and that she had revealed herself fully to 
both. But they in their religion elected different ijiodes of 

p 2 



212 James Thomson — SoaiHc Jenyns, 



worship — and both were worthy of the mighty mothel*. In one 
mood of mind we love Cowper best — in another Thomson* 
Sometimes the "Seasons" are ahiiost a task; and some^ 
times the " Task" is out of season. There is dehghtful dis- 
tinctness in all the pictures of the Bard of Olney — glorious 
gloom or glimmer in most of those of the Bard of Ednam. 
Cowper paints trees — Thomson woods. Thomson paints in a 
few mighty words rivers from source to sea, like the mighty Bur- 
rampooter — Cowper in many no very wondrous lines brightens 
up one bend of a stream or awakens our fancy to the murmur of 
one single waterfall. — " Recreations of Christopher North'' 

Soame Jenyns. 
1704-1787. 

He was the man who bore his part in all societies with the 
most even temper and undisturbed hilarity of any man I ever 
knew. He came into your house at the very moment you had 
put upon your card \ he dressed himself to do your party 
honour in all the colours of the jay ; his lace indeed had long 
since lost its lustre, but his coat had faithfully retained its cut 
since the days when gentlemen wore embroidered figured 
velvets, with shirt sleeves, high cuffs, and buckram skirts. As 
nature had cast him in the exact mould of an ill-made pair of 
stiff stays, he followed her so close in the fashion of his coat that 
it was doubted if he did not wear them ; because he had a 
protuberant wen just under his poll, he wore a wig that did 
not cover above half his head. His eyes were protruded like 
the eyes of a lobster, who wears them at the end of his feelers, 
and yet there was room between one of these and his nose for 
another wen, that added nothing to his beauty. Yet I heard 
this good man very innocently remark, when Gibbon published 
his history, that he wondered anybody so ugly could write a 
book. — Ctimherlajid. 

I have the interest of Christianity too much at heart, not to 
protest solemnly against your method of defending it.— 
Dr. Maclaine, 

His character seems to have been amiable and respected. 
His life had been very active and diversified. He had studied 
much, he had seen more. He conversed as well as he wrote* 
His thoughts were sprightly, his expressions neat. His person 



Soame Jenyns — Benjamin Franklin. 213 

was diminutive, and of a slight make ; and he had a small wen 
or protuberance on his neck. In his youth he had been so 
fond of dress as to be distinguished as one of the beaux of his 
time ; but in the latter part of his life his appearance was 

rather mean As a lay-vindicator of divine revelation he 

ranks with Milton, Locke, Addison, and Newton. — D7\ Ander- 
son. 

He was one of those who wrote the purest English, that is, 
the most simple and aboriginal language, the least qualified 
with foreign impregnation. — Burke, 

As an author, so long as a true taste of fine writing shall 
exist, he will have a distinguished place among those who have 
excelled. Whatever he has published, whether he played with 
his muse, or appeared in the plain livery of prose, was 
sought for with avidity and read with pleasure, by those who 
at the time were esteemed the best judges of composition. — 
Cole. 

We had the other night a conversazione at Mrs. Boscawen's. 
What a comfort for me that none of my friends play at cards ! 
Soame Jenyns and the learned Mr. Cambridge were of the 

party Mr. Jenyns was very polite to me, and as he, his 

lady, and I were the first visitants, he introduced me himself to 
everybody that came afterwards, who were strangers to me. 
There is a fine simplicity about him, and a meek, innocent 
kind of wit, in Addison's manner, which is very pleasant— 
H. More} 

Benjamin Franklin. 
1706-1790. 

Benjamin Franklin who, by bringing a spark from heaven, 
fulfilled the prophecies he pretended to disbelieve ; Franklin 



1 In speaking of Soame Jenyns she gave an anecdote descriptive of his 
extraordinary easiness of temper and careless good-humour. A friend 
who called upon him one morning was pressed by him to take a slice of 
cold meat, but the servant, on being summoned, informed his master that 
there was not a morsel in the larder. When he had left the room, Mr. 
Jenyns turned to his friend and said, Now, we had a large round of beef 
dressed yesterday ; this is therefore rather unaccountable. But I expect 
these things ; and that I may not be subject to lose my temper,, I set down 
300/. a year to losses by lying and cheating, and thus I maintain my com- 
posure. " — " Memoirs of H. More. " 



214 



Benjamin Franklin. 



who wrote a profane addition to the Book of Genesis, who 
hissed on the colonies against their parent country, who taught 
men to despise their Sovereign and insult their Redeemer, who 
did all the mischief in his power while living, and at last died, 
I think, in America, was, besides all the rest, a plagiarist, as it 
appears ; and the curious epitaph made on himself, and as we 
long believed, by himself, was, I am informed, borrowed with- 
out acknowledgment from one upon Jacob Tonson, to whom it 
was more appropriate, comparing himself to an old book, eaten 
by worms, which on some future day, however, should be new 
edited^ after undergoing rrcisal and correction from the Author. — 
Mrs, Piozzi. 

I recommend the study of Franklin to all young people ; he 
was a real philanthropist, a wonderful man. It was said that 
it was honour enough to any one country to have produced 
such a man as Franklin. — Sydney Smith. 

Franklin's quiet memory climl)s to heaven, 

Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven : 

Or drawing from the no less kindled earth 

Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth. — Byron, 

It may fairly be observed that the writings of Dr. Franklin 
are calculated to serve a far more important purpose than that 
of ministering to the views of party, and keeping alive national 
divisions, which, however necessitated by circumstances, ought 
to cease \vdth the occasion, and yield to the spirit of philan- 
thropy. Even amidst the din of war and the contention of 
faction, it was the constant aim of this excellent man to pro- 
mote a conciliatory disposition and to correct the acerbity of 
controversy. — "'Life of Franklin^' 1818. 

A man who makes a great figure in the learned world ; and 
who would still make a greater figure for benevolence and 
candour, were virtue as much regarded in this declining age as 
know^ledge. — Lord Kaimes. 

He was a great experimental philosopher, a consummate 
politician, and a paragon of common sense. His ^' Poor 
Robin " was an absolute manual for a country in leading- 
strings, making its first attempts to go alone. There is 
nowhere compressed in the same compass so great a fund of 
local information and political sagacity, as in his Examina- 
tion before the Privy Council" in the year 1754. The fine 
*^ Parable against Persecution," w^hich appears in his miscel- 



Benjamin Franklin— Henry Fielding, 215 



laneous works, is borrowed from Bishop Taylor. Franklin is 
charged by some with a want of imagination, or with being a 
mere prosaic, practical man ; but the instinct of the true and 
the useful in him, had more genius in it than all the "metre- 
ballad-mongering " of those who take him to task. — Edi7ihurgh 
Review^ 1829. 

Henry Fielding.^ 
1707-1754. 

Fielding has really a fund of true humour, and was to be 
pitied at his first entrance into the world, having no choice, as 
he said himself, but to be a hackney-writer or a hackney- 
coachman. — Lady M, Montagu. 

What a master of composition Fielding was! Upon my 
word I think the ." QEdipus Tyrannus,^' " The Alchemist," and 
^'Tom Jones," the three most perfect plots ever planned. And 
how charming, how wholesome Fielding always is ! To take 
him up after Richardson is like emerging from a sick room 
heated by stoves into an open lawn on a breezy day of May.— 
Coleridge. 

The prose Homer of human nature. — Byron. 

The romance of "Tom Jones," that exquisite picture of 
human manners, will outlive the palace of the Escurial and the 
imperial eagle of KM^Xxm.-— Gibbon. 

Henry Fielding has more wit and humour than all the 
persons {i.e.^ Pope, Swift, and others) whom they had been 
speaking of put together. — Lord Lyttleton. 

For instance, when you rashly think 

No rhymer can like Welsted sink. 

His merits balanc'd, you shall find * 

That Fielding leaves him far behind.^ — Swift. 

Who would venture to read one of his works aloud to a 
modest woman ? — Dr. Burney. 



^ The estimation in which Fielding was held a short time after his death 
is exactly described by Mrs. Piozzi, who, in speaking of Fielding's sister, 
says, "Her brother was author of 'Tom Jones,' not yet obsolete. It is 
hopeless to think this ironical. — Ed. 

_ Little did Swift imagine that this very Fielding would hereafter equal 
him in works of humour, and excel hiiii in drawing and supporting characters, 
and in the artful conduct and plan of a comic ^^o^QQ.—lVaf'ton, 



2l6 



Henry Fielding, 



Sir, he was a blockhead. — Z?r. yohnson. 

One of the best writers that England has produced. — 

Bosii'cll. 

Of all the works of the imagination to which English genius 
has given origin, the writings of Henry Fielding are perhaps 
most decidedly and exclusively her own. — Sir W. Scott. 

The cause of his superiority is to be sought in his wit and 
humour, of which he had an inexhaustible fund. — Chalmers. 

Monsieur de Marivaux in France and Mr. Fielding in 
England, stand the foremost amongst those who have given a 
faithful and chaste copy of life and manners • and by enriching 
their romances with the best part of the comic art may be said 
to have brought it to perfection. — Warburton. 

I cannot offer or hope to make a hero of Harry Fielding. 
Why hide his faults ? conceal his weaknesses in a cloud 

of periphrasis ? Why not show him, like him as he is, not 
robed in a marble toga, and draped and polished in a heroic 
attitude, but with inked ruffles and claret-stains on his tarnished 
laced coat, and on his manly face marks of good-fellowship, of 
illness, of kindness, of care ; and wine-stained as you see him, 
and worn by care and dissipation, that man retains some of the 
most precious and splendid human qualities and endowments. 
— Thackeray. 

I never saw Johnson really angry with me but once ; and his 
displeasure did him so much honour that I loved him the 
better for it. I alluded, rather flippantly I fear, to some witty 
passage in Tom Jones he replied, " I am shocked to hear 
you quote from so vicious a book. I am sorry to hear you 
have read it ; a confession which no modest lady should ever 
make." I thanked him for his correction; assured him I 
thought full as ill of it now as he did, and had only read it at 
an age when I was more subject to be caught by the wit than 
able to discern the mischief Of Joseph Andrews" I declared 
my decided abhorrence. — H. More. 

Through all Mr. Fielding's inimitable comic romances we 
perceive no such thing as personal malice, no private character 
dragged into light ; but every stroke is copied from the volume 
which nature has unfolded to him ; every scene of life is by 
him represented in its natural colours, and every species of 
folly or humour is ridiculed with the most exquisite touches. 
A genius like this is perhaps more useful to mankind than any 
class of WTiters ; he serves to dispel all gloom from our minds, 



Henry Fielding— Samuel Johnson, 217 



to work off our ill-humours by the gay sensations excited by a 
well-directed pleasantry, and in a vein of mirth he leads his 
readers into a knowledge of human XidXmt— Christopher S7na7^f, 
Preface to the Hilliad^^ 1752. 

I dined with him (Mr. Allen) yesterday, where I met 
Mr. Fielding — a poor, emaciated, worn-out rake, whose gout 
and infirmities have got the better even of his buffoonery. — 
Bishop Htird to Rev. Mr, Balguy, 

Samuel Johnson. 
1709-1784. 

A superstitious and brutish bigot. With the exception of 
the EngHsh Dictionary he has done more injury to the EngHsh 
language than even Gibbon himself — y. Ctirra?h 

A mass of genuine manhood. — Carlyle, 

Ursa Major. — Lord Atichi?tlech. 

He's a brute. — Adam Smith. 

I admire him, but I cannot bear his style. — Warhcrton, 
His notions rose up like the dragon's teeth sown by Cadmus, 

all ready clothed, and in bright armour, ready for battle. — 

Piozzi. 

Of Mr. Johnson's erudition the world has been the judge, 
and we who produce each a score of his sayings, as proofs of 
that wit which in him was inexhaustible, resemble travellers 
who having visited Delhi or Golconda, bring home each a hand- 
ful of oriental pearl, to evince the riches of the Great Mogul. — 
Ibid 

Envy was the bosom serpent of this literary despot. — Miss 
Seward, 

Of literary merit Johnson was, as we all know, a sagacious 
but a most severe judge. Such was his discernment that he 
pierced into the most secret springs of human actions; and 
such was his integrity that he always weighed the moral cha- 
racters of his fellow-creatures in the sanctuary. — Parr. 

It is remarkable that the pomp of diction which has been 
objected to in Johnson was first assumed in the Rambler."^ 



1 Johnson's ''pomp of diction" was not first assumed in the ''Ram- 
bler," but in the " Life of Savage." The inflation of his style in. this work 
was afterwards exaggerated in the " Rambler," moderated in the " Idler," 
and almost wholly subdued in the '* Lives of the Poets." — Ep, 



2l8 



Sanmel JoJmson, 



His Dictionary was going on at the same time, and in the 
course of that work, as he grew famiHar with technical and 
scholastic words, he thought that the bulk of his readers were 
equally learned, or at least would admire the splendour and 
dignity of the style. And yet it is well known that he praised 
in Cowley the ease and unaffected structure of the sentences. 
— Murphy. 

It is unfortunate for Johnson that his particularities and 
frailties can be more distinctly traced than his good and 
amiable exertions. Could the many bounties he studiously 
concealed, the many acts of humanity he performed in private, 
be displayed with equal circumstantiality, his defects would be 
so far lost in the blaze of his virtues that the latter only would 
be regarded. ^ — Stccvois. 

Here Johnson comes — unblest with outward grace. 
His rigid morals stamped upon his face; 
While strong conceptions struggle in his brain, 
(For even \nt is brought to bed with pain.) 
To view him porters with their loads would rest, 
And babes cling, frighted, to the nurse's breast ; 
With looks convuls'd he roars in pompous strain. 
And like an angry lion shakes his mane. 
The Nine, with terror struck, who ne'er had seen 
Aught human with so terrible a mien. 
Debating whether they should stay or run — 
Virtue steps forth and claims him for her son.^ 

Cuthbe7^t S/iau>. 

He hated Dissenters and stockjobbers, the excise, and the 



^ People are apt to forget," wrote Thackeray, "under what Boswellian 
stimukis the great Doctor uttered many hasty things: things no more indica- 
tive of the nature of the depths of his character than the phosphoric gleam- 
ing of the sea when stmck at night is indicative of a radical corruption of 
nature." 

- This portrait, greatly admired in its day, occurs in a poem called ' ' The 
Race." Shaw's poems fomi only a few pages. His "Monody to the 
Memory of a Young Lady " was commended by the critics of his time as a 
noble composition, and up to a comparatively recent date was printed 
among " Beauties " and " Elegant Extracts," &c. It is indeed poor stuff. 
" The Race," on the other hand, has passages in it as vigorous as any to be 
found in the " Rosciad," which it imitates. The character of Kenrick is as 
good as that of Settle in Diyden's satire. Shaw was bom in 1738, the son 
of a shoemaker. A meagre memoir of his life is furnished by Anderson in 
his "Poets of Great Britain."— Ed. 



Sanmel Johnson. 



219 



army, septennial parliaments, and continental connexions. — 
' Macatday, 

The conversation of Johnson is strong and clear, and may 
be compared to an antique statue, whose every vein and muscle 
is distinct and bold. — Dr, Percy, 

Rabelais and all other wits are nothing compared to him. 
You may be diverted by them ; but Johnson gives you a 
forcible hug and squeezes laughter out of you, whether you 
will or no. — Garrick. 

One of the most nervous, most perspicuous, most concise, 
most harmonious writers I know. A learned diction improves 
by time. — Sheiistone. 

With a lumber of learning and some strong parts, Johnson 
was an odious and mean character. By principle a Jacobite, 
arrogant, self-sufficient, and overbearing by nature, ungrateful 

through pride, and of genuine bigotry His manners were 

sordid, supercilious, and brutal ; his style ridiculously bom- 
bastic and vicious : and, in one word, with all the pedantry he 
had all the gigantic littleness of a country schoolmaster. — 
Horace Walpole. 

Here lies Sam Johnson : Reader, have a care, 
Tread lightly, lest you wake a sleeping bear ; 
Religious, moral, generous, and humane. 
He was ; but self-sufficient, proud, and vain : 
Fond of, and overbearing in dispute ; 
A Christian and a scholar,— but a brute. 

Soame jFenyns} 



^ Dr. Johnson's review of Soame Jenyns' Free Inquiry into the Ori- 
gin of Evil " has been pronounced by Macaulay one of the best things the 
Doctor ever wrote, "a masterpiece both of reasoning and satirical plea- 
santry." Jenyns deferred his retort until Johnson was dead; he then pro- 
duced the brutal and stupid lines I have quoted. But bad as these lines 
were, Boswell, who would not suffer Johnson to lie unavenged, succeeded in 
producing worse. Here is the biographer's recrimination : 

Here lies a little, ugly, nauseous elf, 

Who judging only from its wretched self, 

Feebly attempted, petulant and vain, 

The origin of evil to explain. 

A mighty genius, at this elf displeas'd, 

With a strong critic grasp the urchin squeez'd; 

For thirty years its coward spleen it kept, 

Till in the dust the mighty genius slept; 



220 Samuel Johnson. 

If Dr. Johnson suffered his great mind to descend into trivial 
amusements, it was — to borrow the image of a friend — Hke the 
elephant who sometimes gives a shock to armies and some- 
times permits himself to be led by a naked infant. — /. U Israeli, 

Johnson to be sure has a rough manner ; but no man alive 
has a better heart. He has nothing of the bear but the skin. 
— Goldsmith. 

A sage by all allowed 
AMiom to liave bred may well make England proud ; 
Whose prose was eloquence by wisdom taught, 
The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought ; 
Whose verse may claim, grave, mascuHne, and strong, 
Superior praise to the mere poet's song. — W. Cowper. 

This Johnson, whom you are all so afraid of, will shrink if you 
come close to him in argument and roar as loud as he. — 
Thonas Sheriilan. 

At this time (17S4), having survived the tempest by which 
the capital and the court had been so long agitated, expired 
Dr. Samuel Johnson, a name which cannot be pronounced 
without veneration. I consider him as the most illustrious 
and universal man of letters whom I have personally known in 
my time ; because I conteniplate Burke more as an orator 
than an author, whatever fame he may have acquired by his 
writings. Gibbon's reputation, however deservedly high, is 
limited to a single branch of composition, and to a single 
work. With Hume and Robertson I was not acquainted. 
Adam Smith, Jacob Bryant, and Horace Walpole — all of whom 
I knew — eminent as were their talents, could not on the whole 
sustain a competition with Johnson. — Wraxalcs ^''Posthumous 
AIcmoirsT 

Dr. Johnson seems to have been really more powerful in 
discoursing viva voce in conversation than with his' pen in hand. 
It seems as if the excitement of company called something 
like reality and consecutiveness into his reasonings, which in 
his writings I cannot see. His antitheses are almost always 
verbal only : and sentence after sentence in the " Rambler" 
may be pointed out to which you cannot attach any definite 

Then stunk and fretted in expiring snuff, 
And blink'd at Johnson with its last poor puff. 

The last couplet may be said to be absolutely meaningless. — Ed. 



Samuel Johnson. 



221 



meaning whatever.^ In his political pamphlets there is more 
truth of expression than in his other works, for the same reason 
that his conversation is better than his writings in general. — 
Coleridge, " Table Talk:' 

Johnson is the very man Chesterfield describes— a Hottentot 
indeed : and though your abilities are respectable you can 
never be respected yourself. He has the aspect of an idiot, 
without the faintest ray of sense gleaming from any one feature, 
with the most awkward garb, and unpowdered grey wig on one 
side only of his head ; he is for ever dancing the devil's jig, 
and sometimes he makes the most drivelling effort to whistle 
some thought in his absent paroxysms. — T>r, Campbell 

He was distinguished by vigorous understanding and in- 
flexible integrity. His imagination was not more lively than 
was necessary to illustrate his maxims; his attainments in 
science were inconsiderable, and in learning, far from the first 
class ; they chiefly consisted in that sort of knowledge which a 
powerful mind collects from miscellaneous reading and various 
intercourse with mankind. — Sir Mackintosh, 

Strong sense, ungraced by sweetness or decorum. — Aaron 
Hill. 

Dr. Johnson's political principles ran high, both in Church 
and State : he wished power to the king and to the heads of 
the Church, as the laws of England have established \ but I 
know he disliked absolute power ; and I am very sure of his 
disapprobation of the doctrines of the Church of Rome \ be- 
cause about three weeks before we came abroad, he said to my 
Cornelia, " You are going where the ostentatious pomp of 
church ceremonies attracts the imagination ; but if they want 
to persuade you to change, you must remember that by in- 
creasing your faith you may be persuaded to become a Turk." 
— Lady Knight, 

That man is not contented with believing the Bible ) but he 
fairly resolves, I think, to believe nothing but the Bible. John- 
son, though so wise a fellow, is more like King David than 
King Solomon, for he says in his haste, all men a7'e liars,-^ 
Hogarth, 



1 It was Lord Lytton, I believe, who said that two essays coukl be made 
Out of every Rambler." — Ed. 



222 



T 



George, Lord Lyttleton. 
1709-1773- 

Absurdity was predominant in Lyttleton's compositions i 
it entered equally into his politics, his apologies, his public pre^ 
tences, his pri\ ate conversations. With the figure of a spectre, 
and the gesticulations of a puppet, he talked heroics through 
his nose, made declamations at a visit, and played at cards 
with scraps of history or sentences of Pindar. He had set out 
on a political love-plan, though with nothing of a lover but 
absence of mind, and nothing of a poet but absence of mean- 
ing ; yet he was (ixr from wanting parts ; sjjoke well when he 
had studied his speeches, and loved to reward and promote 
merit in others. — Horace ]V\jlpolc. 

Of his private character there can be but one opinion. Re- 
jecting the degenerate standard of his age, he illustrated in his 
practice those nobler views, which he derived from the example 
of his ancestors, of the requisite character and attainments of 
an I'^ngHsli gentleman. Sincerely and earnestly religious, when 
to be so was unfashionable, a devoted husband, an affectionate 
but unhappy father, never deserting his friend, ever opening 
his hand to distress in every form, he closed a wise and good 
life by an edifying death. — R. PJiiUimorc. 

His history^ is little read, and not even consulted as much 
as its laborious diligence deserves ; but the period is too re- 
mote and the subject too voluminously treated for popularity; 
and the style which Walpole so much extols' seems diffuse and 
flat to the taste of an age formed on the dazzling brilliancy of 
Gibbon, or the clearer and more mellowed colouring of Hume. 
— Quarterly RtTieK', 1846. 

He was a very early \\Titer both in verse and prose. His 
"Progress of Love" and his "Persian Letters" were both 
written when he was very young ; and, indeed, the character 
of a young man is very visible in both. The verses cant of 
shepherds, and flocks, and crooks dressed with flowers ; and 



^ Histoiy of Henry II." His " Dialogues of the Dead" has also gone 
the way of his history. — Ed. 

*^ " Alas, my lord I your style, which will fix and preserve our language, 
cannot do what language cannot do — refomi the nature of man." — Walpole 
to L)'fthio)i.—E-D. 



George^ Lord Lyttleton — Paid Whitehead, 223 



the letters have something of that indistinct and headstrong 
ardour for hberty which a man of genius ahvays catches when 
he enters the world, and always suffers to cool as he passes 
fonvard. — Johnson. 

One of those Httle fellows who are sometimes called great 
men. — S^nollett, 

Paul Whitehead. 
1710-1774. 

May I (can worse disgrace on manhood fall ?) 

Be born a Whitehead and baptized a Paul. — Churchill. 

Paul Whitehead, a satirical poet of bad character, was the 
son of a tailor. In politics Whitehead was a follower of Bubb 
Dodington ; in private life he was the friend and companion 
of the profligate Sir Francis Dashwood, Wilkes, Churchill, &c. ; 
and like them was a member of the " Hell-fire Club." — Lord 
Dover. 

We have seen that the worthy, modest, and ingenious 
Mr. Robert Dodsley has taste enough to perceive its^ uncom- 
mon merit, and thought it creditable to have a share in it. 
The fact is, that at a future conference he bargained for the 
whole property of it, for which he gave Johnson ten guineas, 
who told me, " I might perhaps have accepted of less ; but 
that Paul Whitehead had a little before got ten guineas for a 
poem, and I would not take less than Paul Whitehead." I 
may here observe that Johnson appeared to me to undervalue 
Paul Whitehead upon every occasion when he was mentioned, 
and in my opinion did not do him justice ; but w^hen it is con- 
sidered that Paul Whitehead was a member of a riotous and 
profane club, w^e may account for Johnson's having a prejudice 
against him. Paul Whitehead was indeed unfortunate in being 
not only slighted by Johnson, but violently attacked by 

Churchill Yet I shall never be persuaded to think meanly 

of the author of so brilHant and pointed a satire as Manners." 
^ — Boswell. 

Paul had taste, and imitated only models of the rarest 
beauty ; and this imitation was better than a low originality 



Johnson's satire, ^' London : a Poem." 



224 7^^?/// Wliitclicad— David IIhdic, | 

without taste at all. His tlioughts were marked by a nianly 
strength, and his phrases abound in a rich vein of poetical 
expression. His (juarry was folly wherever found, and par- 
ticularly ^' the big, rich, mighty dunces of the State." .... Paul 
was one of tlie finest of gentlemen in his way, and associated 
with the very finest of the same class. He not only had 
his country house at Twickenham, but a coruscant circle about 
him of wits whose brilliancy was not considered as tarnished 
by the most mouldy blas[)hemy. — Dr. Doran^ Habits aud 
Muir 

David 1 III inc. 
171 1--1776. 

It is Hume who is read by everybody. Hume is the his- 
torian whose views and opinions insensibly become our own. ;i 
He is respected by the most enlightened reader; he is the 
guide and i)hilosophcr of the ordinary reader, to whose mind 
on all the topics connected with (Hir history he entirely gives 
the tone and law. — Profissor Smyth. 

Hume, without positively a.sserting much more than he can 
l)rove, gives ])rominence to all the subjects which support his 
case. He glides lightly over those which are unfavourable to 
it. His own witnesses are applauded and encouraged; the 
statements which seem to throw discredit on them are contro- . 
verted ; the contradictions into which they fall are explained 
away ; a clear and connected abstract of their evidence is 
^iven. l^verything that is oftered on the other side is scruti- 
nized with the utmost severity ; every suspicious circumstance 
is a ground for comment and invective ; what cannot be denied 
is extenuated and ])assed over without notice. Concessions 
even are sometimes made ; but this insidious candour only 
increases the eftect of this vast mass of sophistry. — Macaiday. 

Hume is always on his guard : no holiness, no beauty, no 
])uritv, no utility can by any chance betray or seduce him to 
find an excuse for the sin of religion. — Qucirtcrly Rcvircu. 

Upon the whole, I have always considered him, both in his 
lifetime and since his death, as approaching as nearly to the 
idea of a perfectly wise and virtuous man as perhaps the nature 
of human frailty will permit. — Adam Smith. 

The calm philosophy, the careless inimitable beauties .... 



David Hume, 



225 



often forced me to close the volume with a mixed sensation of 
delight and despair. — Gibbon. 

Sir, Hume is a Tory by chance, as being a Scotchman ; but 
not upon a principle of duty, for he has no principle. If he is 
anything, he is a Hobbist. — -Johnsojt, 

Hume's character of himself was well drawn and full of 
;Candour ; he spoke of himself as he ought, but added what 
surprised us all, that plain as his manners were, and apparently 
careless of attention, vanity was his predominant weakness. 
That vanity led him to publish his essays which he grieved 
over, not that he had changed his opinions, but that he thought 
he had injured society by disseminating them. Do you 
remember the sequel of that affair ?" said Hume. Yes, I do," 
replied my mother, laughing. " You told me that although I 
thought your character a sincere one, it was not so ; there was 
a particular feature omitted that we were still ignorant of, and 
that you would add it. Like a fool, I gave you the MS. and 
you thrust it into the fire, adding, ^ Oh ! what an idiot I had 
nearly proved myself to be to leave such a document in the 
hands of a parcel of women !' " — Lady Anne Barnai^d^ in " Lives 
of the Lindsays."" 

He by no means considered Mr. Hume as an original or in- 
ventive genius. The subtlety of his reasoning, the extent of his 
reading, the depth and solidity of his reflections he greatly 
admired ; but still he thought that he did not draw so much as 
Dr. Smith or even Lord Kaimes from the stores of his own 
mind. He said that he trod in the footsteps of Bolingbroke 
and certain French philosophers; that he greedily imbibed 
their ideas, and was studious to glean what they left behind 
them ; that he informed himself with great industry of the 
opinions and views of great men, in all ages of the world, com- 
pared them together, preferred what he thought best, drew 
corollaries from their reasoning, and on the whole exhibited a 
striking example of industry and of judgment. But he availed 
himself of the ignorance of the world to pass that as new 
which in reality was old ; and that his ideas were either 
borrowed from other writers, or were deductions and improve- 
ments on conclusions already established. — Anderson's Lift 
of Wilkie:\ 

Fitzpatrick, who had been much in the company of David 
Hume, used always to speak of him as a " deHcious creature." — 
Rogers's " Table TalkP 

Q 



226 



David HiiJNc. 



Hume wrote his history as witches say tlieir prayers — back- 
wards. — Home Tooke. 

The doctrine of Mr. Hume .... is not that we have not , 
reached truth, but that we never can reach it. It is an abso- 
lute and universal system of scepticism, professing to be 
derived from the very structure of the understanding, which, if 
any man could seriously believe it, would render it impossible 
for him to form an opinion upon any subject — to gi\e the 
faintest assent to any i)roposition — to ascribe any meaning to ' 
the words Truth and Falsehood — to bcHeve, to inquire, or to 
reason ; and on the very same ground, to disbeHeve, to dissent, 
or to doubt — to adhere to his own j)rinciple of universal doubt ; | 
and lastly, if he be consistent with himself, even to f/iink. — 1 
Edifilnir^h Ra'iau^ 182 i. 1 

We would scarcely attempt to defend the prejudices and I 
minor inaccuracies of Hume : but it seems to us that sufficient | 
account is not made of the wonderful quickness and sagacity 
of that great writer and most admirable of narrators, whose 
intuitive perception generally made up for his indolence in I 
examining records and original opinions. — G. L. Craik. 

He alone ai)pears to have possessed the sort of intellectual 
versatility ; the power of contracting the mental organs to the 
abstractions of speculative philosophy, or of dilating them for 
the large and complicated deliberations of business. — Sir J, 
Mackintosh. 

This writer's bias to the Trench tastes and manners, which 
appears throughout his history, is ridiculous ; his political 
doctrines arising out of his bigotry to the Stuart family are 
pernicious ; and his libertinism, which breaks out on so many 
occasions, is detestable. Otherwise this is the most readable 
history we have of England. The faults of the composition 
are a too frequent aftectation of philosophical disquisition, and 
an incorrect and sometimes an inflated style. The former is 
unsuited to the general nature of history ; the latter is a capital 
blemish in a work that pretends to be nothing more than a 
compilation. With these faults his work Avill be read and 
admired. The worst is, the mediocrity of this history will 
prevent an able writer from undertaking a better. — Dr. Hurd. 

Mallet's wife, a foolish and conceited woman, one evening 
introduced herself to David Hume at an assembly, saying. 

We deists, Mr. Hume, should know one another." Hume 
was exceedingly displeased and disconcerted, and replied, 



David Hume — Thomas Davies, 



227 



Madam, I am no deist ; I do not so style myself ; neither do 
I desire to be known by that appellation." — Hardy's ''•Life of 
Lord Charkmonty 

Thomas Davies. 
1712-1785. 

With him came mighty Davies ; on my life 
That Davies hath a very pretty wife ! 
Statesman all over ! in plots famous grown, 
He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone ! 

Churchill, 

Mr. Thomas Davies was a man of good understanding and 
talents, with the adv^antage of a liberal education. Though 
somewhat pompous, he was an entertaining companion ; and 
his literary performances have no inconsiderable share of merit. 
He was a friendly and very hospitable man. Both he and his 
wife (who has been celebrated for her beauty), though upon 
the stage for many years, maintained an uniform decency of 
character. — Boszodl, 

Sir, Davies has learning enough to give credit to a clergy- 
man. — yohiison. ^ 

A tenth-rate actor, third-rate bookseller, and sober Scotch- 
man. — Fitzgerald, 

Richard Glover. 
1712-1785. 

Since Milton he was second to none of our English poets in 
his discriminating judicious acquaintance with all ancient as 
well as modern literature. Witness his Leonidas," " Medea," 
^' Boadicea," and London for, having formed his own 
character upon the best models of the Greek writers, he lived 
as if he had been bred a disciple of Socrates or companion 
of Afistides. — Brocklesby. 



^ The Doctor, however, had a sincere contempt for Davies. Some one 
praised Swift's pamphlet, " The Conduct of the Allies." Sir,'" cries the 
Doctor, *'his 'Conduct of the" Allies' is a performance of very little 
ability. . . , Why, sir, Tom Davies might have written the * Conduct of the 
Allies.'" 

Q 2 



228 Ricliavd Gloi'cr — Laicrcucc Sttruc, 



I look \\\)0\\ " Leonidas " as one of those few poems of dis- 
tinguished worth and excellence which will be handed down 
with respect to all posterity, and which in the long revolution 
of past centuries but two or three countries have been able to 
produce. And I cannot helj) congratulating my own, that 
after having in the last age brought forth a Milton, she has in 
this i)roduced two more such poets as we have the happiness 
to see flourish now together; I mean Mr. Pope and Mr. 
Glo\'er. — Lord Lyttlcton, 

His Hosier's Ghost " is one (jf the most pathetic and 
beautiful ballads in the English language. — Dr. Anderson, 

Our author, in his ])rincii)al Grecian heroes, and most 
eminently in Leonidas," their leader, has represented, with sin- 
gular strength and truth, virtuous characters of high spirit 
suj)erior to the greatest misfortunes, which is an achievement 
Plato thought the most dirticult of all poetical imitation. — Dr. 
Pent If er ton. 

I have rarely heard a more curious instance of the absence 
of mind ])roduced by poetic enthusiasm than that which 
occurred when the author of Leonidas" made one of a party 
of literati assembled at the house of Mr. Gilbert West at Wick- 
ham. Lord Lyttlcton, on oi)ening his window one morning, 
perceived Glover j)acing to and fro with a whip in his hand, by 
the side of a fnie bed of tulips just ready to blow, and which 
were the peculiar care of the lady of the mansion, who wor- 
shipped Flora with as much ardour as Glover did the Muses. 
His mind was at the insUint teeming with the birth of some 
little ballad, when Lord Lyttlcton, to his astonishment and 
dismay, perceived him applying his whij) with great vehemence 
to the stalks of the unfortunate tulii)s, all of which, before there 
was time to awaken him from his reverie, he had completely 
levelled with the ground ; and when the devastation he had 
committed was aftenvards pointed out to him, he was so per- 
fectly unconscious of the proceeding that he could with diffi- 
culty be made to believe it. — Hannah More. 

Lawrence Sterne. 
1713-1768. 

With regard to Sterne and the charge of licentiousness which 
presses so seriously upon his character as a writer, I would 



Lawrence Sterne, 



229 



remark that there is a sort of knowingness, the wit of which 
depends — ist, on the modesty it gives pain to ; or, 2ndly, on the 
innocence or innocent ignorance over which it triumphs ; or 
3rdly, on a certain oscillation in the individual's own mind 
between the remaining good and the encroaching evil of his 
nature — a sort of dallying with the devil — a fluxionary art of 
combining courage and cowardice, as when a man snuffs a 
candle with his fingers for the first time, or, better still perhaps, 
like that trembling with which a child touches a hot tea-urn, 
because it has been forbidden ; so that the mind has its own 
white and black angel ; the same or similar amusement as may 
be supposed to take place between an old debauchee and a 
prude — the feeling resentment on the one hand from a pru- 
dential anxiety to preserve appearances and have a character ; 
and on the other with inward sympathy with the enemy. We 
have only to suppose society innocent, and then nine-tenths of 
this sort of wit would be like a stone that falls in snow, making 
no sound, because exciting no resistance ; the remainder rests 
on its being an offence against the good manners of human 
nature itself. This source, unworthy as it is, may doubtless be 
combined with wit, drollery, fancy, and even humour ; and we 
have only to regret the 7nesallia7ice ; but that the latter are 
quite distinct from the former may be made evident by ab- 
stracting from our imagination the morality of the characters of 
Mr. Shandy, my Uncle Toby, and Trim, which are all antago- 
nists to this spurious sort of wit, fi-om the rest of Tristram 
Shandy," and by supposing, instead of them, the presence of 
two or three callous debauchees. The result will be pure dis- 
gust. Sterne cannot be too severely censured for thus using 
the best dispositions of our nature as the panders and condi- 
ments for the basest. — Coleridge. 

He could exhibit on the same stage the finest feelings of our 
nature, the most delicate sentiments, and the most pathetic 
situations ; with, at the very same time, a studied lewdness, 
and a coarse, though witty buffoonery. He could ascend the 
pulpit, as was well said, ''in a harlequin's jacket," and he could 
write bawdry to his daughter. — Qiiarteidy Review^ 1847. 

Sterne was a man of genius, but a sad sinner. Strange that 
nature should sometimes be so kind to men who have no 
hearts ! But let us not say that he had no heart, and a good 
one — though no man save himself knew how he had corrupted 
it. Not otherwise could he have imagined my Father, and 



230 



Lawrence Sterne, 



my Uncle Toby, and Corporal Trim. They had all hearts, 
and how have they touched ours 1 No phantoms they— flesh 
and blood like ourseh es ; but we pass away — they endure for 
ever : we are the phantoms. Peace then be with Lawrence. — 
Blackwood's Miii^azinc, ^^35. 

The third and fourth volumes of ''Tristram Shandy" are the 
dregs of nonsense, and have universally met the contempt they 
deserve. — Horace Walpolc. 

Soon after "Tristram" had appeared, Sterne asked a York- 
shire lady of fortune and condition whether she had read his 
book. I have not, Mr. Sterne," was the answer, "and to be 
plain with you, I am informed that it is not proper for female 
perusal." " My dear good lady," replied the author, ''do not 
be gulled by such stories ; the book is like your young heir 
there (pointing to a child of three years old who was rolling on 
the carpet in his white tunics), he shows a good deal that at 
times is usually concealed, but it is all in perfect innocence." — 
Sir //; Scott. 

The man is a great jester, not a great humourist. He goes 
to work systematically and of cold blood ; paints his face, puts 
on his ruff and motley clothes, and lays down his carpet and 
tumbles on it. — Thackeray. 

He preferred whining over a dead ass to relieving a li\ ing 
mother. — Byron. 

Johnson : " Any man who has a name or who has the power 
of pleasing will be very generally invited in London. The 
man Sterne, I have been told, has had engagements for three 
months." Goldsmith: ''And a \txy dull fellow." Johnson: 
'^Why, no, '^xx:'—'' Life of Johnson:' 

No classic could endure Sterne's style. — Dr. Gregory. 

'* Tristram Shandy" is still a greater object of admiration, the 
man as well as the book. One is invited to dinner, wh^ he 
dines, a fortnight before. As to the volumes yet published, 
there is much good fun in them, and humour sometimes hit 
and sometimes missed. Have you read his " Sermons," \nth 
his own comick figure, from a painting by Reynolds, at the 
head of them ? They are in the style I think most proper for 
the pulpit, and show a strong imagination and a sensible heart ; 
but you see him often tottering on the verge of laughter, and 
ready to throw his periwig in the face of the audience. — Gray. 

The famous '-Tristram Shandy" itself is not absolutely ori- 
ginal; for when I was at Derby in the summer of 1744, I 



Lazvrence Sterne, 



231 



strolled by mere chance into a bookseller's shop, where, how- 
ever, I could find nothing to tempt curiosity but a strange 
book about Corporal Bates, which I bought and read for want 
of better sport, and found it to be the very novel from which 
Sterne took his first idea. The character of Uncle Toby, the 
behaviour of Corporal Trim, even the name of Tristram itself, 
seems to be borrowed from this stupid history of Corporal 
Bates, forsooth ! — Mrs, Piozzi. 

Sterne, when he had finished his first and second volume of 
" Tristram Shandy," offered them to a bookseller at York for 
fifty pounds; but was refused. He came to town with his 
MSS. in his pocket, and he and Robert Dodsley agreed in a 
manner of which neither repented. — /. Uls^^aeli, 

Mrs. Medalle (Sterne's daughter) sent to. all the correspon- 
dents of her deceased father,^ begging the letters which he had 
written to them ; among other wits she sent to Wilkes with the 
same request. He sent for answer, that as there happened to 
be nothing extraordinary in those he had received he had 
burnt or lost them. On which, the faithful editor of her 
father's works sent back to say that if Mr. Wilkes would be so 
good as to write a few letters in imitation of her father's style, 
it would do just as well, and she would insert them. — Me?iioirs 
of Hannah More!^ 

Our last specimen of humour, and with all his faults the 
best ; our finest, if not our strongest, for Yorick, and Corporal 
Trim, and Uncle Toby have yet no brotherhood but in Don 
Quixote, far as he lies above "Cn^m—Carlyle, 

And now for Sterne, who, when he sat to Reynolds, had not 
written the stories of " Le Fevre," " The Monk," or The Cap- 
tive," but was known only as a fellow " of infinite jest, of most 
excellent fancy." In this matchless portrait, with all its expres= 



^ Sterne's funeral was as friendless as his deathbed. Becket, his pub- 
lisher, was the only one who followed the body to its undistinguished grave 
in the parish burial-ground of Marylebone, near Tyburn gallows-stand. 
Nor was this ungraced funeral the last indignity of that poor body, over 
vhose infirmities Sterne had alternately puled and jested. The graveyard 
lay far from houses ; no watch was kept after dark ; all shunned the ill- 
famed neighbourhood. Sterne's grave was marked down by the body- 
snatchers, the corpse dug up and sold to the professor of anatomy at Cam- 
bridge. A student, present at the dissection, recognised, under the scalpel, . 
the face — not one easily to be forgotten, as we know from, Reynolds 
picture — of the brilliant Avit and London lion of a few seasons before^ — 

Maloniana:' 



232 L arc mice Stcriic — WilliaDi SJicnstonc. 

sion of intellect and humour, there is the sly look for which we 
are prepared by the insidious mixture of so many abominations 
with the finest wit in " Tristram Shandy" and the " Sentimental 
Journey," so different from the openness of Swift's obscenity, 
and so much more detestable. Xor is the position of the 
figure less characteristic than the expression of the face. It is 
easy, but it has not the easiness of health. Sterne props him- 
self up. His wig was subject to odd chances from the humour 
that was upj^ermost with the wearer. AN'hen by mistake he had 
thrown a fair sheet of manuscrij)t into the fire instead of the foul 
one, he tells us that he snatched oft" his wig and threw it per- 
pendicularly, with all imaginable violence, up to the top of the 
room." While he was sitting to Reynolds, this same wig had 
contrived to get itself a little on one side ; and the painter, with 
that readiness in taking advantage of accident to which we owe 
.so many of the delightful novelties in his works, i)ainted it so, for 
he must have known that a mitre would not sit long bishop- 
fashion on the head before him, and it is surprising what a' 
Shandean air this venial impropriety of the wig gives to its 
owiKr. — Leslies " Life of Reytwlds'^ 

William Shcnstonc. 
1714-1763. 

His divine elegies do honour to our language, our nation, 
and our species. — Burns, 

His mind was not ver)* comprehensive, nor his curiosity 
active ; he had no value for those parts of knowledge which 
he had not himself cultivated. — jfo/uison. 

His character as a writer will be distinguished by simplicity 
with elegance, and genius with correctness. He had a sub- 
limity equal to the highest attempts ; yet from the indolence of 
his temper he chose rather to amuse himself in culling flowers 
at the foot of the mount, than to take the trouble of climbing 
the more arduous steeps of Parnassus. — R. Dodslcy. 

Poor man ! he was always wishing for money, for fame, and 
other distinctions ; and his whole philosophy consisted in living 
against his will in retirement, and in a place which his taste had 
adorned, but which he only enjoyed when people of distinction 
came to see and commend it. — Gray. 

The life of Shenstone was passed in an amusement which 



William Shenstone — George Whitfield. 233 



was to him an eternal source of disappointment and anguish. 
His favourite ferme or7iee^ while it displayed all the taste and 
elegancies of the poet, displayed also his characteristic poverty. 
His feeling mind was often pained by those invidious com- 
parisons which the vulgar were perpetually making with the 
stately scenes of Hagley's neighbouring magnificence. — 
/. JD' Israeli, 

He was a man of taste rather than genius, and may claim a 
full alliance with the jDoets of nature, but is as far from the 
association with great poets, with such men as Milton or Shak- 
speare. Burns or Elliott, as the glowworm is with the comet, — 
Willia77i Howitt, 

To you whose groves protect the feather'd choirs, 
Who lend their artless notes a willing ear, 

To you, whom pity moves and taste inspires, 

The Doric strain belongs, O Shenstone — y<^go} 

George Whitfield. 
1714-1770. 

His eloquence was powerful, his views pious and charitable, 
his assiduity almost incredible. — Boswell. 

Whitfield never drew as much attention as a mountebank 
does ; he did not draw attention by doing better than others, 
but by doing what was strange. Were Astley to preach a 
sermon, standing upon his head on a horse's back, he would 
collect a multitude to hear him ; but no wise man would say he 
had made a better semion for that. I never treated Whitfield's 
ministry with contempt \ I believe he did good. He had 
devoted himself to the lower classes of mankind, and among 
them he was of use. But when familiarity and noise claim 
the praise that is due to knowledge, art, and elegance, we must 
beat down such pretensions. — yohiiso7i. 

He had a loud and clear voice, and articulated his words so 



^ Jago was a poet who flourished between the years 17 15 and 1781. Dr. 
Anderson has included him in his " Poets of Great Britain." Many pages 
of flatulent blank verse distinguish this poetaster in the line of descent fi-om 
his conf7'h'es, who were more given to epigrammatic rhymes and couplets 
regularly pausing. Jago was a Scotchman without humour, wit, or poetry, 
and with but very little intelligence. — Ed. 



George Whitfield, 



perfectly that he might be heard and understood at a grc r. 
distance ; especially as his auditories observed the most perfect 
silence. He preached one evening from the top of the Court 
House steps which were in the middle of Market Street, and 
on the west side of Second Street, which crosses it at right 
angles. Both streets were filled with his hearers to a consider- 
able distance ; being among the hindmost in Market Street, I 
had the curiosity to learn how far he could be heard, by retir- 
ing backwards down the street towards the river ; and I found 
his voice distinct till I came near Front Street, when some 
noise in that street obscured it. Imagining then a semicircle 
of which my distance should be the radius, and that it was 
filled with auditors to each of whom I allowed two square feet, 
I computed that he might well be heard by more than 30,000. 
This rcconciJed me to the newspaper accounts of his having 
preached to 25,000 people in the fields,* and to the histories 
of generals haranguing whole annies, of which I had sometimes 
doubted. By hearing him often I came to distinguish easily 
between sermons newly composed and those which he hact 
often preached in the course of his travels. His delivery of 
the latter was so improved by frequent repetition that every 
accent, every em|jhasis, every modulation of voice was so per- 
fectly well-turned and well-placed, that without being interested 
in the subject, one could not help being pleased with the dis- 
course ; a pleasure of much the same kind with that received 
from an excellent piece of music. ... I am satisfied that if 
he had never written anything, he would have left behind him 
a much more numerous and important sect, and his reputation 
might in that case have been still growing even after his death. — 
Benjamin Franklin. 

A preaching, prison-preaching, field-preaching Esq. strikes 



^ W'liiifield was once preaching in an open field to an immense audience. 
A dnimmer \\ ho was in the cro^^■d, influenced perhaps by a regard for the 
dignity of the English hierarchy, furiously beat his drum whenever ^Vhil- 
field grew energetic. In vain \Vhitfield raised his voice ; the clamour of 
the drum dro^^^led him. At last, turning towards the drummer, he cried, 
" Friend, you and I sen e the two greatest masters existing, but in different 
callings. Vou beat up for volunteers for King George, I for the Lord 
Jesus : — in God's name, then, let us not intermpt each other ; the world is 
wide enough for both, and we may get recruits in abundance." This 
speech had such an effect on the drummer that he went away in the higliest 
good humour, leaving ^Vhitfield in peaceable possession of the field. — Er. 



George Whitfield. 



23s 



I more than all the black gowns and lawn sleeves in the world. 
And if I am not mistaken, the Great Shepherd and Bishop of 
Souls will let the world, and his own children too, know that he 
will not be prescribed to, in respect to men, or garb, or place, 
much less will he be confined to any order or set of men under 
heaven. — Whitfield to Rowland Hill. 

Whitfield's zealous spirit exhausted all its energies in preach- 
ing, and his full dedication to God was honoured by unbounded 
success. The effect produced by his sermons was indescribable, 
arising in a great degree from the most perfect forgetfulness of 
self, during the solemn moment of declaring the salvation that 
is in Christ Jesus. His evident sincerity impressed every 
hearer, and is said to have forcibly struck Lord Chesterfield 
when he heard him at Lady Huntingdon's. — Sidney's Life of 
Rowland Hilir 

Taking his stand on some rising knoll, his tall and graceful 
figure dressed with elaborate propriety, and composed into an 
easy and commanding attitude, Whitfield's " clear blue eye" 
ranged over thousands and tens of thousands, drawn up in close 
files on the plain below, or clustering into masses on every 
adjacent eminence. A rabble rout" hung on the skirts of 
the mighty host ; and the feelings of the devout were disturbed 
by the scurril jests of the illiterate, and the cold sarcasms of 
the more polished spectators of their worship. But the rich 
and varied tones of a voice of unequalled depth and compass 
quickly silenced every ruder sound — as in rapid succession its 
ever-changing melodies passed from the calm of simple narra- 
tive to the measured distinctness of argument, to the vehemence 
of reproof, and the pathos of heavenly consolation. "Some- 
times the preacher wept exceedingly, stamped loudly and 
passionately, and was frequently so overcome that for a few 
seconds one would suspect he could never recover, and when 
he did, nature required some little time to compose himself." 
.... The agitated assembly caught the passions of the speaker, 
and exulted, wept, or trembled at his bidding. He stood 
before them in popular behef, a persecuted man, spurned and 
rejected by lordly prelates, yet still a presbyter of the Church, 
and clothed with her authority \ his meek and lovvdy de- 
meanour chastened and elevated by the conscious grandeur of 
the apostohc succession. The thoughtful gazed earnestly on a 
scene of solemn interest, pregnant with some strange and 
enduring influence on the future condition of mankind, But 



236 George Whitfield— Sir John Hi!!. 



1 



tlie wise and the simple alike yielded to the enchantment ; j 
and the thronging multitude gave utterance to their emotions ' 
in every form in which nature seeks relief from feeling too \ 
strong for masterw — /u/inh/ri:;/i A'a /ni', 1S3S. 1 



Sir John Hill. 

1716 1775. i 

For physic and farces his ecjual there scarce is ; 

His farces are j)hysic, his physic a farce is. — Garrick. 

Invite liim once a week to dinner, 

He'll saint you, tho' the vilest sinner; 

Have you a smiling, vacant face? 

He gives you soul, expression, grace. 

Swears what you will, unswears it too ! 

What will not beef and putkling do ? — Epigram. 

He puffs himself, forbear to chide ; 

An insect \ ile and mean 
Must first, he knows, be magnify'd, 

Before it can be seen. — Kpii:;ram, 

Word-valiant wight, thou great he-shrew, i 

That wrangles to no end ; 
Since nonsense is not false nor true, 

ThouVt no man's foe or friend. — J'^J>igriv/i. 

To beat one man great Hill was fated ; 
What man ? a man that he created. — Epigram. 

\Miat Hill one day says, he the next does deny ; 
And carefully tells us 'tis all a d — lie ; 
Dear Doctor, this candour from you is not wanted, 
For why should you own it ? 'tis taken for granted. 

Epigram. 

Busy, curious, hungry Hill, 
Wiite of me, and write your fill. 
Freely welcome to abuse, 
Couldst thou tire thy railing muse, 
Make the most of this you can, 
Strife is short, and life's a span. 

Both alike your works and pay 
Hasten quick to their decay : 



Sir John HilL 



237 



This a trifle, those no more, 
Though repeated to threescore : 
Threescore volumes when they're writ 
Will appear at last — H, Woodward. 



It appears that the first effort of this universal genius, who is 
lately become remarkable as the Bobadil of Hterature, was to 
excel in pantomime. What was the event ? he was damned. 
Mr. Cross, the prompter, took great pains to fit him for the 
part of Oroonoko — he was damned. He attempted Captain 
Blandford — he was damned. He acted Constant in the Pro- 
voked Wife" — he was damned. He represented the Botanist 
in "Romeo and Juliet" at the little theatre in the Haymarket, 
under the direction of Mr. Theo. Cibber — he was damned. 
He appeared in the character of Lothario at the celebrated 
theatre in May Fair — he was damned there too. — Note to the 
''HiUiadr 

He used to write anonymous books, and then other books 
commending those books, in which there was something of 
rascality. — Johnson} 

O thou ! whatever name delights thine ear ! 

Pimp ? poet ? puffer ? pothecary ? player ? 

Whose baseless fame by vanity is buoy'd. 

Like the huge earth, self-centred in ^the void. — Smart. 

John Hill was born in 17 16. His father, who was a clergy- 



^ **0f this talent," says Smart, "take a specimen. In a letter to himself 
he saith : ' You have discovered many of the beauties of the ancients ; 
they are obliged to you ; we are obliged to you ; were they living they 
would thank you; we who are alive do thank you.'" Hill, of whose 
WTitings absolutely nothing survives, was not only popular enough to 
provoke the sarcasms of the chief wits of his day, and successful enough 
to secure for himself the notice of every writer who has dealt with that 
epoch of English literature, but was fortunate or unfortunate enough to 
attract the attention of George III., who, on his meeting Dr. Johnson in the 
library at Buckingham House, asked the philosopher for his opinion of 
Dr. Hill. Dr. Johnson soon let the King know what sort of a man Hill 
Avas. But, said the moralist, ' ' I began to consider that I was depreciating 
this man in the estimation of his sovereign, and thought it was time for me 
to say something more favourable. " He therefore said that Dr. Hill was a 
very curious observer, and that he might have been a very considerable 
man had he not chosen to tell the world more than he knew. — Ed. 



Sir Jolni Hill — Thomas Gray, 



man, placed him as apprentice with a surgeon at Westminster, 
and having married early he set up for himself in that profes- 
sion, but soon dissatisfied ^^'ith it, he applied himself to the 
study of botany, and obtained the patronage of the Duke of 
Richmond and Lord Petre. This pursuit he also relinquished, 
and he next applied himself to the stage, and made several un- 
successful attempts as an actor at Drury Lane and the little 
theatre in the Haymarket, in the latter of which he performed 
the part of the quack doctor in " Romeo and Juliet." He 
afterwards indulged the spleen occasioned by this failure by 

decrying the best actors of the day On the publication of 

his Supplement to Chambers," he made an attemj)t to ob- 
tain admission into the Royal Society ; but his unprincipled 
character being now well known, he was rejected, and in 
revenge .... published a hoax on (the Society) in a clever 
though ridiculous pamphlet (under the pseudonym of Abraham 
Johnson), entitled ** Lucina sine Concubitu," in which he pre- 
tended to show that generation might take i)lace without the 
intercourse of the sexes. This book made some noise at the 
time, and gave birth to several other jjamphlets. Hill now 
obtained a foreign diploma of doctor in medicine, drove about 
in his chariot, and took upon himself all the airs of a fashion- 
able author. His ovenveening vanity made him an object of 
ridicule ; he strutted about with an aft'ected air, was a regular 
attendant at the theatres and places of amusement, exhibited 
himself at the fashionable lounges, aped the manners of a fop, 
and pretended to enjoy the favours of \ !i< - of (juality. — Cari- 
cature History of the Georges'^ 

Posterity . . . regards Dr. Hill a.^ an able botanibL ; and 
though his nostrums and panaceas are now exploded, his 
voluminous works in natural history have advanced towards 
fame with nearly as much rapidity as his empirical productions 
liave descended towards obli\ion. — Dr. Anderson. 



riiomas Gray. 
1716-1771. 

He always aims at the highest things, and if he does fail, it 
is only by a hair's breadth. — HazUtt. 

Sir,' I don't think Gray a first-rate poet. He has not a bold 



Thomas Gray. 



239 



imagination, nor much command of words. The obscurity in 
which he has involved himself will not persuade us that he is 
sublime. — yohnson} 

Humour was his natural and original turn. — Horace Walpole. 

Perhaps he was the most learned man in Europe. He was 
equally acquainted with the elegant and profound parts of 
science, and that not superficially but thoroughly. He knew 
every branch of history, both natural and civil, had read all the 
original historians of England, France, and Italy, and was a 
great antiquarian. Criticism, metaphysics, morals, politics, 
made a principal part of his study. Voyages and travels of all 
sorts were his favourite amusements ; and he had a fine taste in 
painting, prints, architecture, and gardening, — Rev. Mr. Temple 
to Boswell. 

Had Gray WTitten nothing but his Elegy,'* high as he stands, 
I am not sure that he would not stand higher ; without it his 
Odes would be insufticient for his fame. — Byro?i. 

We cannot without some regret behold those talents, so ca- 
pable of giving pleasure to all, exerted in efforts that can at best 
amuse only the few ; we cannot behold the rising poet seeking 
fame among the learned without hinting to him the same 
advice that Isocrates used to give his scholars : study the people. 
— Goldsmith^ in the Monthly Review. 

How enchantingly beautiful was Gray's Muse when she wan- 
dered through the churchyard in her morning dress ! But 
when she was arrayed in gorgeous attire, in a monstrous hoop 
and a brocade petticoat, I could gaze upon her indeed; she 
made an impression on my eye, but not on my heart. — Lang- 
home to H. More. 

He was the most finished artist, whose productions to the 
eye of the critic, and more especially to the artist, afforded a 
new kind of pleasure not incompatible with a distinct percep- 
tion of the art employed. — Sir y. Mackiiitosh. 

I have been reading Gray's works, and think him the only 
poet since Shakspeare entitled to the character of sublime. 
Perhaps you will remember that I once had a different opinion 
of him. I was prejudiced. He did not belong to our Thurs- 



1 Sir," said Johnson to Boswell, on the latter demurring to the epithet 
*'duir' as appHed to such a poet, " Sir, he was dull in company, dull in 
his closet, dull everywhere. He was dull in a new way, and that made 
people think him great. He was a mechanical poet."— Ed. 



i 



240 TJuvjias Gray — David Garrid\ 

day Society, and was an Eton man, which lowered him j^rodigi- 
ously in our esteem. I once thought Swift's Letters" the best 
that could be written : but I Hke Clray's better. His lunnour 
or his wit, or whatever it is to be called, is never ill-natured or 
offensive, and yet 1 think etjually poignant widi the Deans. — 
]\'illiiini Co7cpa\ 

I had always a passion for Ciray, which his " Letters" are cal- 
culated to increase. His poetry is so extjuisite that the delight I 
felt in reading him is generally mixed with regret that he wrote 

so little In my j^oor ()])iniun (his Letters") i>ossessall the 

graces and all the ease which 1 a|)i)rehend ought to distinguish 
this familiar species of composition. They have also another 
and a higher excellence : the temper and sj)irit he almost con- 
stantly discovers in the unguarded confidence and security of 
friendshi]), will rank him among the most amiable of men, as ^ 
his charming verses will give him a place among the first of a 
lyric i)oets. — Jlannah iMorc. " 

I was a mere lad when Mason*s Gray" was published. I 
read it in my young days with delight, and have done so ever 
since. 'I'he *' Letters" have for me an inexpressible ( harm ; they 
are as witty as Walpole's, and have, what his want, true wis- 
dom. — AWcrs, 



David Ci;irrick. 
1716-1779. 

Garrick was a frequent visitor in Poland Street and St. 
Martin's I^ne. That wonderful actor loved the society of 
children, partly from good nature and parUy from vanity. The 
ecstasies of mirth and terror, which his gestures and play of 
countenance never failed to produce in a nurser)', flattered him 
quite as much as the applause of mature critics. He often 
exhibited all his powers of mimicry for the amusement of the 
little Burneys, awed them by shuddering and crouching as if he 
saw a ghost, scared them by raving like a maniac in St. Luke's, 
and then at once became an auctioneer, a chimney-sweeper, or 
an old woman, and made them laugh till the tears ran do\Mi 
their checks. — Mauiiday, 

Boswell : ''Would not you, sir, start as Mr. Garrick does, if 
you saw a ghost ?" Johnson : '* I hope not. If I did, I should 
frighten the gliost." — Bos7<r//. 



I 



David Garrick. 



241 



Colonel Pennington said Garrick sometimes failed in em- 
phasis ; as, for instance, in " Hamlet — 

I will speak dagga^s to her ; but use none^^ 

instead of 

" I will speak daggers to her ; but use none." — Ibid, 

Garrick's conversation is gay and grot esque. It is a dish o 
all sorts, but all good things. There is no solid meat in it ; 
there is a want of sentiment in it. Not but that he has senti- 
ment sometimes, and sentiment, too, very powerful and very 
pleasing ; but it has not its full proportion in his conversation. 
— yohnso7i. 

Garrick, madam, was no declaimer. There was not one of 
his scene-shifters who could not have spoken To Be or ?iot to Be 
better than he did ; yet he was the only actor I ever saw whom 
I could call a master both in tragedy and comedy, though I 
liked him best in comedy. A true conception of character, and 
natural expression of it, were his distinguished excellencies. 
And after all, madam, I thought him less to be envied on the 
stage than at the head of a table. — Ibid. 

Garrick's wit is more like Lord Chesterfield's. — Wilkes, 

He is but a good mimick. — H. Walpole. 

His acting I have seen, and may say I see nothing wonderful 
in it. — Ibid. 

Here lies David Garrick, describe me who can 
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man ; 
As an actor confess'd without rival to shine ; 

As a wit, if not first, in the very first line 

On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting, 
'Twas only that when he was off he was acting. 

Goldsmith. 

I have known 07ie little 7nan support the theatrical world, 
like a David Atlas, upon his shoulders. — Ster7ie. 

The grace of action —the adapted mien. 
Faithful as nature to the varied scene ; 
Th' expressive glance, whose subtle comment draws 
Entranc'd attention and a mute applause ; 
Gestures that mark with force and feeling fraught 
A sense in silence and a will in thought ; 
Harmonious speech, whose pure and Hquid tone 
Gives verse a music scarce confess'd its own ; 

R 



242 



David Garrich 



As light from gems assumes a brighter ray 

And cloth'd with orient hues, transcends the day ! 

SJieridafi. 

You should write your own criticisms. David always did. — 
Mrs. Garrick, 

If manly sense, if nature link'd with art ; 

If thorough knowledge of the human heart ; 

If powers of acting vast and unconfin'd ; 

If fewest faults with greatest beauties join'd ; 

If strong expression, and strange powers which lie 

Within the magic circle of the eye ; 

If feelings which few hearts like his can know, 

And which no fiice so well as his can show ; 

Deserve the prefrence — Garrick, take the chair, 

Nor quit it, till thou place an equal there. — Churchill, 
AMien I first beheld little Garrick, then young and light, and 
alive in every muscle and in every feature, come bounding on 
the stage and pointing at the wittol Altamont and the heavy- 
paced Horatio (Heavens ! what a transition !), it seemed as if a 
whole century had been swept over in the space of a single 
scene ; old things were done away and a new order at once 
brought forward, bright and luminous, and clearly destined to 
dispel the 1)arbarisms and bigotry of a tasteless age, too long 
attached to the prejudices of custom, and superstitiously devoted 
to the illusions of imposing declamation. — Cumberland, 

Garrick was pure gold, but beat out into thin leaf — Bosiuell. 
That young man never had his equal, and never will have a 
rival. — Fo/'c. 

He is the completest little doll of a figure — the prettiest little 
creature. — Colhy Cibhcr. 

The ^\^litfield of the stage.— (2/////. 

David's verses are so bad that if I die first, all I dread is 
that Garrick will undertake my epitaph. — Foote. 

Rogers : Mr. MuqDhy, sir, you knew Mr. Garrick?" 
ISIurphy : Yes, sir, and no man better." Rogers : Well, sir, 
what did you think of his acting ?" Murphy (after a pause) : 
Well, sir, off the stage he was a mean, sneaking little fellow ; 
but 071 the stage," throwing up his eyes and hands, " Oh 1 my 
great God 5. Rogers " Table Talkr 

I honour you for your repeated endeavours in stemming a 
torrent of vice and folly. You do it in a station where most 



David Gar rick— Horace Walpole. 243 



men, I suppose, think you might fairly be dispensed with, from 
bearing your part in the duty of good citizens, on such a neces- 
sary occasion. Nobody but you and Pope ever knew how to 
preserve the dignity of your respective employments. — War- 
burto7i, 

Shakspeare's page, the flower of poesy, 
Ere Garrick rose, had charms for every eye : 
'Twas nature's genuine image wild and grand, 
The strong-mark'd picture of a master's hand. 
But when his Garrick, Nature's Pallas, came, 
The bard's bold painting burst into a flame : 
Each part new force and vital warmth received, 
As touch'd by heaven — and all the picture liv'd. 

Mickle. 

To the most eloquent expression of the eye, to the hand- 
writing of the passions on his features, to a sensibility which 
tears to pieces the hearts of his auditors, to powers so un- 
paralleled, he adds a judgment of the most exquisite accuracy, 
the fruit of long experience and close observation, by which he 
observes every gradation and transition of the passions, keeping 
all under the control of a just dependence and natural con- 
sistency. So naturally indeed do the ideas of the poet seem to 
mix with his own, that he seemed himself to be engaged in a 
succession of affecting situations, not giving utterance to a 
speech, but to the instantaneous expression of his feelings, 
delivered in the most affecting tones of voice, and with gestures 
that belong only to nature. It was a fiction as delightful as 
fancy, and as touching as truth. A few nights before I saw 
him in ^'Abel Drugger," and had I not seen him in both, I 
should have thought it as possible for Milton to have written 
^'Hudibras" and Butler "Paradise Lost," as for one man to 
have played " Hamlet" and " Drugger" with such excellence.— 
Ha7inah More. 

The greatest creature living in every respect. — Gainsborough, 

Horace Walpole. 
1717-1797. 

The faults of Horace Walpole's head and heart are indeed 
sufficiently glaring. His writings, it is true, rank as high 

R 2 



244 



Horace WaIpoh\ 



among the delicacies of intellectual epicures as the Strasburg 
pies among the dishes described in the " Almanach des Gour- 
mands." But as the pate-dc-foie-gras owes its excellence to the 
diseases of the wretched animal which furnishes it, and would 
be good for nothing if it were not made of livers preternaturally 
swollen, so none but an unhealthy and disorganized mind could 
have produced such literary luxuries as the works of Walpole. 
He was, unless we ha\ e formed a very erroneous judgment of 
his character, the most eccentric, the most artificial, the most 
fastidious, the most cai)ricious of men. His mind was a 
bundle of inconsistent whims and aftectations. His features 
were covered by mask within mask. A\'hen the outer disguise 
of obvious aflectation was removed, you were still as fiir as ever 
from seeing the real man. He i)layed innumerable parts and 
over-acted them all. W hen lie talked misanthropy he out- 
Timoned Timon ; when he talked philanthro|)y he left Howard 
at an immeasurable distance. — J/dui/z/dv. 

His epistolary talents have shown our language to be ca- 
pable of all the grace and all the charms of the French of 
Madame de Sevigne. — J/iss Berry, 

Mr. Walpole is spirits of hartshorn. — Lady TLnvnsJiauL 

Horace AValpole was an agreeable, lively man ; very affected, 
always aiming at wit, in which he fell very short of his old 
friend George Selwyn. — Lord Ossory. 

His birth was premature, and he was all his life a very slight, 
feeble, and unmanly figure. He died in 1797. The late publi- 
cation of his " Memoirs" has lowered his reputation for candour, 
disinterestedness, and truth ; and they have, by their undis- 
guised and undeniable falsehood and malice, excited a strong 
impression against the accuracy of his other anecdotical works. 
His " Letters," too, which are charming in their style and topics, 
are unhappily tinctured with the same readiness to sacrifice 
truth to either prejudice or pleasantry. — " Lady Suffolk's Cor- 
respondc?icer 

He united the good sense of Fontenelle with the Attic salt 
and graces of Count Anthony Hamilton. — " Walpolia7ia'' 

I made poor Vesey go with me on Saturday to see Mr. 
Walpole, who has had a long illness. Notwithstanding his suffer- 
ings, I never found him so pleasant, so witty, and so enter- 
taining. He said a thousand entertaining things about Florio, 
but accused me of having imposed on the world by a dedica- 
tion full of falsehood, meaning the compliment to himself. I 



Horace Walpole, 



never knew a man suffer pain with such entire patience. This 
submission is certainly a most vakiable part of rehgion, and yet, 
alas ! he is not religious. I must, however, do him the justice 
to say that except the delight he has in teazing me for what he 
calls over-strictness, I have never heard a sentence from him 
which savoured of infidelity. — Haiiiiah Mo?r, 

His original vein of playful humour and pleasantry runs 
through the whole (of his works), but it is mingled with a much 
larger proportion of profaneness and indelicacy than I should 
have expected from the casual intercourse and conversation 
which I have had with him, in which he was always decent and 
correct. I am sorry to say that he omits no opportunity of 
burlesquing Scripture, religion, and the clergy. — Bishop Porteus, 

It is the fashion to underrate Horace Walpole ; firstly, be- 
cause he was a nobleman, and secondly, because he was a 
gentleman ; but to say nothing of the composition of his incom- 
parable " Letters," and of the " Castle of Otranto," he is the 
Ultifuiis Roma7io7'nm^ the author of the " Mysterious Mother," 
a tragedy of the highest order, and not a puling love-play. He 
is the father of the first romance and of the last tragedy in our 
language, and surely worthy of a higher place than any living 
author, be he who he may. — Byi'on, 

In speaking of the Castle of Otranto," it may be remarked 
as a singular coincidence in the life of Walpole, that as he had 
been the first person to lead the modern public to seek for their 
architecture in the Gothic style and age, so he also ojDened the 
great magazine of the tales of Gothic times to their literature. 
^'The ^Castle of Otranto' is remarkable," observes an eminent 
critic, " not only for the wild interest of its story, but as the 
first modern attempt to found a tale of amusing fiction upon 
the basis of the ancient romances of chivalry."^ — Lord Dover, 

Mr. Walpole took no prominent part in public affairs ; but he 
was eager and active in politics, and, though destitute of ambi- 
tion, he supplied the want of it by a meddUng restlessness of 
character — a propensity, as he calls it, to faction, and strong 
dislike to particular persons. His uniform regard for Mr. 
Conway shows he was not incapable of steady friendship ; but, 
in general, his attachments, though, warm while they lasted, 
Avere changeable and uncertain. To share in his antipathies 



^ Sir Walter Scott. 



24^ 



Horace Walpolc — Mrs. Carter, 



and resentments was a surer passport to his favour tlian to 
participate in his friendships or opinions. His poHtical creed 
was that of the Whigs of the day, who differed from the Tories 
and the Jacobites chiefly in their Low Church principles, in 
their dread and hatred of the Stuarts, and in their attachment 
to the House of Hanover. In the mind of Mr. Walpole the 
opinions of his party were mixed up with a sort of speculative 
repubhcanism which could lead to no results, and therefore 
never influenced his conduct, though it sometimes gives a tinge 
to his reflections. As a public man he was too much governed 
by his passions ; and, though ])ersonally disinterested, was too 
apt, for the accomplishment of his ends, to dip in underhand 
intrigues and double negociations. As an historian, his prin- 
cipal merit is the minute description he gives of the characters 
and motives of the persons with whom he acted ; and his chief 
defect an unjust propensity to satire. — Edinburgh Ra iciu^ 1822. 

Mrs. Carter. 
1 7 1 7-1 806. 

I am not at all satisfied widi the "Life of Mrs. Carter," nor 
much pleased with her reviewer. Her biographer, in order to 
do away the terrors of her piety and learning, has laboured to 
make her a woman of the world, and produced no less than five 
letters to prove that she subscribed to a ball ; and he respects 
her fondness for cards as much as if it was her passport to im- 
mortality. Every novel-reading miss will now visit the circu- 
lating library with a warrant from Mrs. Carter. Mrs. Carter 
\vas passionately fond of poetry, yet though she lived and 
flourished with Pope, Thomson, Gray, Collins, Mason, 
Churchill, Wartons, Cowper, &:c., there is not a single criti- 
cism ; and though she lived with the learned the book is 
naked of anecdote. Her opinions of books are confined to 
Mrs. West's and Charlotte Smith's novels. The mind is not at 
all turned inside out. You do not get the least acquainted 
with her notions. She was my zealous and attached friend 
and correspondent for near thirty years ; I loved dearly her 
honest, correct heart and highly cultivated mind. ^ AVe differed 
just enough in our religious views for the exercise of mutual 
charity. She was a Clarkist, Her calm orderly mind dreaded 
nothing so much as irregularity : she was therefore most strictly 



Mrs, Carter— Hugh Blair. 



H7 



High Church, and most scrupulously forbore reading any book, 
however sound and sober, which proceeded from any other 
quarter. She would on no account have read even Doddridge 
or Pascal. — If. More. 

He told us, ''I dined yesterday at Mrs. Garrick's with Mrs. 
Carter, Miss Hannah More, and Fanny Burney. Three such 
women are not to be found ; I know not where I could find a 
fourth, except Mrs. Lennox, who is superior to them all." — 
Bosw ell's " J^ohnso7i.^^ 

Mrs. Carter truly exemplified the maxim that to be good is 
to be happy. Happy she certainly was, beyond the race of 
women. She had several attached brothers and sisters, whose 
characters and understandings were of the superior class, and 
who found in her the sagest of counsellors and warmest of 
friends, while their worldly interests were in many instances 
advanced by the influence which the extent of her acquire- 
ments and talents, and the excellence of her character, nad 
among many powerful and distinguished friends. It was not 
the least of her high privileges that she appears through life to 
have been moving in an atmosphere of worth, elegance, and 
piety. Miss Fanshawe says, in one of her letters to me, written 
soon after the death of this venerated person, that she appears 
to her to have been half an angel and half a sage ; differing 
from most of her sex in having laid down a plan in the outset 
of life to which she adhered steadily to the end, writing Greek 
in the face of the world without compunction, never losing a 
friend, and never making an enemy. — Mrs. Grant's " Letters.'' 

Hugh Blair. 
1718-1800. 

I love Blair's Sermons." Though the dog is a Scotchman 
and a Presbyterian, and everything he should not be, I was the 
first to praise them.^ — Dr. Johnson. 



^ He praised them to some purpose, for on Strahan, the bookseller, 
sending him one of the sermons for his opinion, Johnson replied, '^I have 
read over Dr. Blair's first sermon with more than approbation ; to say it is 
good is too Uttle." This produced an offer to Blair of 100/., which was 
accepted ; the sale, however, was so great that the bookseller doubled the 
sum. We are informed that the success of these sermons was unparalleled 



248 



Hugh Blair — ]ViUiai)i K enrich. 



The merits of Blair (by far the most popular writer of 
sermons within the last century) are i)lain good sense, a 
happy application of Scriptural (quotation, and a clear har- 
monious style, richly tinged with Scriptural language. He 
generally leaves his readers pleased with his judgment, and his 
just observations on human conduct, without ever rising so 
high as to touch the great i)assions, or kindle any enthusiasm 
in favour of \ irtue. — Sydfuy Smiih. 

A\'ith Dr. Blair I am more at my ease. I never respect him 
with humble veneration; but when he kindly interests himself 
in my welfare, or still more, when he descends from his pinnacle 
and meets me on ecjual ground in conversation, my heart over- 
flows with what is called likith:;. When he neglects me for the 
mere carcase of greatness, or >\ hen* his eye measures the 
difference of our points of elevation, I .say to my.self, with 
scarcely any emotion, what do 1 care for him or his pomp 
either ? — Robert Burns. 

It is not easy forming an exact judgment of any one ; but in 
my opinion Dr. Blair is merely an astonishing i)roof what 
industry and application can do. Natural parts like his are 
frecpiently to be met with ; his vanity is proverbially known 
among his acquaintance, but he is justly at the head of what 
may be called fme writing ; and a critic of the first, the very 
first, rank in prose ; even in poetry, a bard of Nature's making 
can only take the/jj of him. He has a heart, not of the very 
finest water, but fiir from being an ordinary one. In short, he 
is truly a worthy and most respectable character. — Ibid, 

William Kcnrick. 
172C-1779. 

One of those unhappy persons who, with considerable 
talents, acquire notice chiefly by offences against good taste 

and propriety A love of notoriety, a jealous and perverse 

temper, increased often to violence by habits of intemperance, 
led him to assail all who enjoyed reputation, or whose success 



in the histoiy of pulpit literauire. They M ere lianslated into the principal 
languages of Europe. Ever}-bocly who had money bought them ; and, what 
was more wonderful, ever)-body who bought them, read them. George III. 
settled 2Qol. a year on Blair. — Ed. 



William Keiirick. 



249 



i excited his envy, often avowedly A graver charge than 

envy or jealousy — that of desperate malignity — applies to his 
conduct in 1772, when, after having long flattered Garrick in 
\ order to secure the reception of his pieces on the stage, he 
I turned upon him in consequence of a trifling disagreement 
i with an infamous and unfounded charge connected with the 
retirement of Isaac Bickerstaff from the country ; and when 
proceedings were commenced against him in the Court of 
King's Bench, made at once the most abject submission and 
retraction. When afterwards asked by Evans, the bookseller, 
how he could bring so infamous a charge against Mr. Garrick, 
he replied, " He did not believe him guilty, but did it to plague 
the fellow." The honest bookseller observed, on teUing the 
story, I desire to add, I never more conversed with such a 
man." — yavies Prio7\ 

Dreaming of genius which he never had, 
Half wit, half fool, half critic, and half mad ; 
Seizing like Shirley on the poet's lyre. 
With all the rage, but not one spark of fire ; 
Eager for slaughter and resolved to tear 
From others' brows that wreath he must not wear. 
Next Kenrick came ; all furious and replete 
With brandy, malice, pertness, and conceit ; 
Unskill'd in classic lore, through envy blind 
To all that's beauteous, learned, or refined, 
For faults alone behold the savage prowl, 
With Reason's offal glut his ravening soul ; 
Pleas'd with his prey, its inmost blood he drinks, 
And mumbles, paws, and turns it— till it stinks. — Shaw, 
Though he certainly was not without considerable merit, he 

wrote with so^ Httle regard to decency, and principles, and 

decorum, and in so hasty a manner, that his reputation was 

neither extensive nor lasting. — BosivelL 
^ Sir, he is one of the many who have made themselves piblic 

without making themselves known. — Johfison. 

I hear you have had the honour to be abused by Kenrick; 

I think nothing would hurt me so much as such a fellow's 

praise ; I should feel as if I had a blister upon me. — Langhorne 

to Hannah Mo7r, 



250 

William Collins. 

1720-1756. 

Mr. Collins was a man of extensive literature and of vigorous 
faculties. He was acquainted not only with the learned 
tongues, but with the Italian, French, and Spanish languages. 
He had employed his mind chiefly on works of fiction and 
subjects of fancy ; and, by indulging some peculiar habits of 
thought, was eminently delighted with those flights of imagina- 
tion which pass the bounds of nature, and to which the mind 
is reconciled only by a passive acquiescence in popular 
traditions. He loved fairies, genii, giants, and monsters ; he 
delighted to rove through the meanders of enchantment, to 
gaze on the magnificence of golden i)alaces, to repose by the 
waterfalls of Elysian gardens. — yohnson, 

Collins was an acceptable companion every^vhere ; and 
among the gentlemen who loved him for a genius may be 
reckoned Drs. Armstrong, Barrowby, Hill, Messrs. Quin, 
Garrick, and Foote, who frequently took his opinion on their 
pieces before thej' were seen by the public. — Ation. 

I have lately finished eight volumes of Johnson's ^* Prefaces, 
or Li\ es of the Poets." In all that number I observe but one 
man — a ])oet of no great fame — of whom I did not know that 
he existed till I found him there, whose mind seems to have 
had the slightest tincture of religion and he w^as hardly in 
his senses. His name was Collins. He sunk into a state of 
melancholy and died young. Not long before his death he 
was found at his lodgings in Islington by his biographer, with 
the New Testament in his hand. He said to Johnson, " I have 
but one book, but it is the best." Of him, therefore, there 
are some hopes. But from the lives of all the rest there is but 
one inference to be dra\Mi : that poets are a very worthless, 
wicked set of people. — Coiupcr, 

At Chichester tradition has preserved some striking and 
affecting occurrences of the last days of the unhappy Collins. 
He would haunt the aisles and cloisters of the Cathedral, 



^ Surely Co\\-per when he wrote this had not read the lives of Young, 
Blackmore, Swift, Watts, Lyttleton, Cowley, Milton, Pamell, and 
Addison. — Ed. 



William Collins— Mrs, Montagu, 251 

roving nights and days together, loving their dim religious 
light and when the choristers chanted their anthem, the 
listening and bewildered poet, carried out of himself by the 
solemn strains and his own too susceptible imagination, moaned 
and shrieked, and awoke a sadness and terror most affecting in 
so solemn a place. — /. D' Israeli, 

Gray's odes are fine, and though somewhat too formal, 
perhaps, the ''Welsh Bard" is full of Greek fire. Some of 
Mason's choruses are sonorous, and swing along not un- 
majestically ; and TomWarton caught no small portion of the 
true lyrical spirit — witness his Kilkerran Castle song. But 
Collins far surpassed them all, and his odes are all exquisitely 
beautiful, except his " Ode to Freedom," and it is sublime. — 
yohn Wilson. 

Mrs. Montagu. 
1720-1800. 

Mrs. Montagu does not make a trade of her wit ; but Mrs. 
Montagu is a very extraordinary woman ; she has a constant 
stream of conversation, and it is always impregnated, it has 
always a meaning. — yolmson. 

Sir, that lady exerts more miiid in conversation than any 
person I ever met with ; sir, she displays such powers of ratio- 
cination — such radiations of intellectual excellence as are 
amazing. — Ibid. 

This brings to my remembrance the unparalleled eulogium 
which the late Lord Bath made on Mrs. Montagu (a lady he 
was intimately acquainted with) in speaking of her to Sir 
Joshua Reynolds. His lordship said " that, he did not believe 
that there ever was a more perfect human being created, or 
ever would be created, than Mrs. Montagu." I give the very 
words I heard from Sir Joshua's mouth ; from whom also I 
heard that he repeated them to Mr. Burke, observing that Lord 
Bath could not have said more ; and '' I do not think he said 
too much," was Mr. Burke's reply. — Miss Reynolds. 

Mrs. Montagu wants to make up with me again. I daresay 
she does ; but I will not be taken and left even at the pleasure 
of those who are much nearer and dearer to me than Mrs. 

Montagu. We want no flash, no flattery Mrs. Montagu 

wrote creeping letters when she wanted my help, or foolishly 



252 Mrs, Montagu— Bishop Hurd, 

thought she did, and then turned her back upon me, and set 
her adherents to do the same. I despise such conduct. — 
Mrs. Fiozzi. 

Airs. Montagu received me with most encouraging kindness ; 
she is not only the fmest genius, but the finest lady I ever saw ; 
she lives in the highest style of magnificence ; her apartments 
and table are in the most sj)len(lid taste ; but what baubles are 
these when si)caking of a Montagu ! Her form (for she has no 
body) is delicate even to fragihty ; her countenance the most 
animated in the world ; the sprightly vivacity of fifteen with the 
judgment and experience of a Nestor. Ikit I fear she is hasten- 
ing to decay very fast ; her si)irits are so active that they must 
soon wear out the little, frail recei)tacle that holds them. — 
Ilanuah More. 

She has that look and manner of a woman accustomed to 
being distinguished, and of great parts. — Miss Bunicy. 

Mrs. Montagu's i)arties were jjleasant, no doubt, for she got 
together the i)eoi)le best worth knowing ; and though she loved 
flattery and loved to draj^e and i)Ose herself as the chief muse of 
a new British Parnassus, she was essentially a gentlewoman, 
full of kindness and benevolence, standing stoutly up for her 
friends, and always ready to help unknown and struggling people 
with her i)atronage, her advice, and her money. — Leslie's Life 
of Juyno/ds.''' 

Bishop I lurd. 
I 720-1S08. 

His appearance and air are dignified, placid, grave, and mild, 
but cold and rather distancing. He is extremely well-bred, 

nevertheless Piety and goodness are so marked on his 

countenance, which is truly a fine one, that he has been 
named, and very justly, The Beauty of Holiness." Indeed, in 
face, manner, demeanour, and conversation, he seems precisely 
what a bishop should be, and what would make a looker-on, 
were he not a bishop, and a see vacant, call out, " Take Dr. 
Hurd ! that is the man — ''Diary of Madame D'Arblay.'' 

In person Bishop Hurd was below the middle size, of slight 
make, but well-proportioned, his features not marked, but 
regular and pleasing, and his whole aspect intelligent, thoughtful, 
and, in later life, venerable. This idea is fully conveyed in the 
portraits of him extant, by Gainsborough and others. Although 



r 



I Bishop Htird. 253 

he reached so advanced an age, his health seems never to have 
i been good ; and notwithstanding his temperate and abstemious 
I mode of Hving, we find in his letters frequent complaints of his 
suffering from attacks of gout, dizziness, and lowness of spirits, as 
well as of languor and indolence arising from these causes. With 
regard to his intellectual endowments, he had received from 
nature remarkable clearness of apprehension and accuracy of 
judgment, great aptitude for methodical arrangement, and that 
sagacity which is the primary qualification of a critic. He had 
a peculiar bent for tracing moral effects to their causes, and 
niuch ingenuity in inventing hypotheses to account for pheno- 
mena. He was also gifted with a keen discrimination of cha- 
; racter, and great skill in seizing its salient points. — Kilverfs 
Life of Hurdr 

I shall never forget his appearance. It was as if some 
statue had 

' " Stepped from its pedestal to take the air." 

He was habited in a brocaded silk morning gown, with a full- 
dressed wig, stooping forward, and leaning upon what appeared 
to be a gold-headed cane. His complexion had the trans- 
parency of marble ; and his countenance was full of expression, 
indicative of the setting of that intellectual sun which at its 
meridian height had shone forth with no ordinary lustre. — Dr. 
Dihdifi. 

Hurd, sir, is one of a set of men who account for everything 
systematically; for instance, it has been a fashion to wear 
scarlet breeches ; these men would tell you that according to 
causes and effects no other wear could have been at that time 
chosen. — Dr. J^ohnson, 

. The venerable Dr. Hurd, Bishop of Worcester, being in the 
habit of preaching frequently, had observed a poor man remark- 
ably attentive, and made him some little presents. After awhile 
he missed his humble auditor, and meeting him said, "John, 
how is it that I do not see you in the aisle as usual John, 
with some hesitation, replied, " My lord, I hope you will not be 
offended, and I will tell you the truth. I went the other day to 
hear the Methodists; and I understand their plain words so much 
j better that I have attended them ever since." The Bishop put 
! his hand into his pocket and gave him a guinea, with words to 
I this effect : " God bless you ; go where you can receive the 
greatest profit to your soul." — "Life of Lady Htmti^igdon,^^ 



^54 



Bishop Hiird — Thomas Sheridan. 



I had often the satisfaction of attending this good prelate ofti- 
cially, when he was only Mr. Hurd, in the business of his various 
learned works, and uniformly experienced the same gratifying 
affability, which was not lessened by the progressive dignities 
to which he was advanced. After Mr. Hurd was made a 
bishop I have frequently been honoured with an invitation to 

his hospitable dinners The rich stores of a capacious and 

highly-cultivated mind were opened with the utmost placidity 
of manner, and were a never-failing source of instruction and 
del ight. — Nichols's ' ' Literary A fiecdotes. ' ' 

From a farmhouse and village school Hurd emerged, the 
friend of Gray and a circle of distinguished men. While Fellow 
of a small college he sent out works praised by foreign critics, 
and not despised by our own scholars. He enriched his under- 
standing by study, and sent from the obscurity of a country 
village a book, sir, which your ro)al father is said to have 
declared made him a bishop. He made himself unpopular in 
his own profession by the defence of a fantastical system. He 
had decriers — he had no trumpeters ; he was great in and by 
himself. — Dr. Parr., in a avn'crsation loiiJi the F?'i?ice of IVa/es.^ 

The Bishop was somewhat too much of a precisian, and 
there are few flashes of the ;//e//s diviiiior in his " Dialogues." 
Moreover, his was ''pride that licked the dust" beneath 

Warburton's feet Yet true it is and of verity, that we owe 

to Hurd the vindication of Spenser. Therefore laud to the 
lawn sleeves, the crozier, the mitre, and the wig, for they came 
to the rescue of the ''Faery Queen." — Bhickwood, 1834. 

Thomas Sheridan. 
1721--1788. 

He was the son of Dr. Thomas Sheridan, a profound scholar 
and eminent schoolmaster, intimately acquainted with Dean 
Swift and other illustrious writers in the reign of Queen Anne. 

He was father of the celebrated orator and dramatist Richard 

Brinsley Sheridan In the literary world he was distin- 
guished by numerous and useful ^mtings on the pronunciation 
of the EngUsh language. Through some of his opinions ran 



1 ''Life of Pan-," vol. i. 



Thomas Sheridan—William Wilkie. 255 



a vein of singularity, mingled with the rich ore of genius. In 
his manners there was dignified ease ; in his spirit invincible 
firmness ; and in his habits and principles unsullied integrity. — = 
Dr. Parr, 

His literary labours .... are chiefly upon subjects connected 
with education, to the study and profession of which he devoted 
the latter part of his life. Such dignity, indeed, did his favourite 
pursuit assume in his own eyes, that he is represented (on the 
authority of one, however, who was himself a schoolmaster) to 
have declared that he would rather see his two sons at the 
head of respectable academies, than one of them Prime Minister 
of England, and the other at the head of affairs in Ireland." — 
Moore. 

On Friday (1785) I was invited to a very agreeable party at 
Mrs. Vesey's to hear Mr. Sheridan read. He gave us the 
beautiful but hackneyed Churchyard Elegy," " Jessy," 
^' Dryden's Ode," The Morning Hymn," and everything that 
everybody could say by heart. Ele was sensible, but pedantic 
as usual. He abused all the English poets, because none of 
them had written to the heart. — Hannah More. 

Why, sir. Sherry is dull, naturally dull ; but it must have 
taken him a great deal of pains to become what we now see 
him. Such an excess of stupidity, sir, is not in nature. 
Sheridan cannot bear me. I bring his declamation to a point. 
I ask him a plain question, What do you mean to teach ?" 
Besides, sir, what influence can Mr. Sheridan have upon the 
language of this great country by his narrow exertions ? Sir, 
it is burning a farthing candle at Dover to show light at 
Calais. — Dr, yohiison. 

William Wilkie. 

I72I-I772. 

Wilkie, with all his learning, could neither read nor spell. I 
myself was witness to his ignorance of the art of reading. 
When I was a very young man, residing at Hatton, Wilkie 
came from St. Andrew's on a visit to Lord Lauderdale. He 
stayed a few days, and all the personal knowledge I had of 
Wilkie was acquired during that time. "The Judgment of 
Paris," a poem by Dr. Beattie, was brought to Hatton one of 
those days, as a new publication, Wilkie asked me to retire 



256 



]\'i//i(7jn ]Vi!kit\ 



witli him, that wc miglu read and criticise the poem together. 
At first, when he began to read, I imagined that he did not 
understand the verses at all, as he surely committed the saddest 
havoc, in point of quantity and pronunciation that can well be 
imagined, and even miscalled several of his words : and yet his 
criticisms were so just, and so hai)pily expressed, that I was 
charmed by the elegance of his taste. — Professor Dalzci 

^\'herever Wilkie s name happened to be mentioned in a 
company, learned or unlearned, it was not soon dropped ; 
everybody had much to say. — Lord Elibank. 

He was a great and an odd man. His character, I \ cnture 
to say, will never be successfully written, but by a great hand ; 
and even when written, the theory of the man is above common 
comj)rchension. — Adam Smith. 

He was always fond of being in the comjjany of old men and 

old women He had read the ancient philosophers and poets 

very early. Hesiod was a favourite ])oet of his, and he very 
often (juoted him to persons who knew nothing about him. His 
conversation was most original and ingenious. It had a mix- 
ture of knowledge, acuteness, and singularity, which rendered 
it peculiarly delightful ; and every person who spent an hour 
with him carried away something he was glad to repeat. — 
Afion.^ ij not I'd by Dalzcl. 

1 have heard the late Dr. Wallace, author of the ''Disserta- 
tion on the Numbers of Mankind," say, nobody could venture 
to cope with him. His knowledge in almost all things was j 
deej), solid, and imanswerable. Jiis meaning was plain to a 
child. In shrewdness, he had no rival. Both his manner and 
thoughts were masculine in a degree peculiar to himself — Dr, 
Robertson. 

There is nothing more wonderful in this admirable poem (the 
P^^igoniad ") than the intimate acquaintance it displays, not 
only with human nature, but with the turn and manner of think- 
ing of the ancients, their history, opinions, manners, and 
customs. There are few books that contain more learning than 
the Epigoniad." To the reader acquainted with remote 
antiquity it yields high entertainment ; and we are so far from 
thinking that an acquaintance with Homer hinders men from 
reading this poem, that we are of opinion it is chiefly by such 
as are conversant in the wi tings of that poet that the " Epi- 
goniad " is or will be read. And as the manners therein 
described are not founded on any circumstances that are tern- 



William Wilkie — William Robertson. 257 



porary and fugacious, but arise from the original frame and 
constitution of human nature, and are consequently the same in 
all nations and periods of the world, it is probable, if the 
English language shall not undergo very material and sudden 
changes, that the epic poem of Wilkie will be read and admired 
when others that are in greater vogue in the present day shall 
be overlooked and forgotten. — Dr. A?idersoii. 

In course of conversation I mentioned an anecdote about 
Wilkie, the author of the " Epigoniad," who was but a formal 
poet, but whose conversation was most amusing and full of 
fancy. Having heard much of him in my family, where he had 
been very intimate, I went, when quite a lad, to St. Andrew's, 
where he was a Professor, for the purpose of visiting him. I 
had scarcely let him know who I was, when he said, Mr. 
William, were you ever in this place before?" I said no. 
"Then, sir, you must go and look at Regulus's Tower — no doubt 
you will have something of the eye of an architect about you ; 
— walk up to it at an angle, advance and recede until you get 
to see it at its proper distance, and come back and tell me 
whether you ever saw anything so beautiful in building. Till I 
saw that tower and studied it, I thought the beauty of architec= 
ture had consisted in curly-wurlies ; but now I find it consists 
in symmetry and proportion." — Life of Sir W. ScoUy 

William Robertson. 
1721-1793. 

His eloquence was bold and masculine ; his diction, which 
flowed with perfect ease, resembled that of his writings ; but of 
course became suited to the exigencies of extemporaneous 
speech. He had the happy faculty of conveying an argument 
in a statement, and would more than half answer his adversary 
by describing his propositions and his reasonings.— Z(?r^ 
Brougham. 

The perfect composition, the nervous language, the well- 
turned periods of Dr. Robertson, inflamed me to the ambitious 
hope that I might one day tread in his footsteps. — Gibbon. 

You must look upon Robertson^s work as romance,, and try 
it by that standard. History it is not. Besides, sir, it is the 
great excellence of a writer to put into his book as much as his 
book will hold. Goldsmith has done this in his history. Now 

s 



25 S ]VilIiavi Robertson — •\Iark Akcnsidc. 



Robertson might liavc put twice as much into his book. 
Robertson is Hke a man who has i)ackcd gold in wool ; the 
wool takes up more room than the gold. — JoJuisoji. 

We are tempted to think we have before us rather the orator, 
ambitious of displaying his eloquence, than the simple narrator 
of past events. He falls likewise into the error of occasionally 
making speeches for his characters, a ])ractice which, if counte- 
nanced by antiquity, is scarcely desirable in a modern writer. — 
James Prior. 

A disciple of the old school of slander — a liar — and one for 
whom bedlam is no bedlam. — Uliitakcr. 

Robertson's histories may be worth your nmning over. There 
is a deal of prate in them, according to the Scotch way of 
writing history, and indeed everything else. His civility to 
Gibbon and Raynal makes me suspect his religion to be of a 
piece with that of his friend Hume. — Bishop Hurd. 

Mark Akcnsidc. 
1721-1770. 

Akenslde was a superior poet both to Gray and Mason. — 
Df' JoJinson, 

If he had left lyric composition to Gray and Collins, and had 
employed his powers in grave and elevated satire, he might 
have disputed the pre-eniinence of Dr)'den. — Macatday} 



^ Vet neither Gray nor Collinii has written anything finer than the Ode 
to Lord Huntingdon." The "Epistle to Curio," which Macaulay particularly 
commends, has high and distinctive merits, and in parts rivals Dryden's 
strength and Pope s sweetness. But Akenside in a no lesser degree asserts 
his genius in many of his lyrics. Take this passage : — 

Yet hence barbaric zeal 

His memoiy with unholy rage pursues, 

\Vhile from these arduous cares of public weal 

She bids each bard be gone and rest him with his Muse, 

O Fool I to think the man whose ample mind 

Must grasp at all that yonder stars survey, 

Must join the noblest forms of ev'ry kind, 

The world's most perfect image to display, 

Can e'er his count ly's majesty behold 

Unmov'd or cold : 

O Fool ! to deem 

That he whose thought must ^'isit every theme, 



Mark Akenside. 



259 



Akenside's distinguished poem is his ^'Pleasures of Imagina- 
tion but, for my part, I never could admire it so much as 
most people do. — BoswelL 

I am of opinion that there is now living a poet of as genuine 
a genius as this kingdom ever produced, Shakspeare alone 

excepted The poet I allude to is Dr. Akenside, — Cooper^ 

" On Taster 

We cannot but regard it (^^ Pleasures of Imagination ") as a 
noble and beautiful poem, exhibiting many bright displays of 
genius and fancy, and holding out sublime views of Nature, 
Providence, and iAoxdXxXy.—Biographia Britannica, 

The bard of Tyne — his master hand 
Awakes new music o'er the land ; 
And much his voice of right and \vrong 
Attempts to teach th' unheeding throng. 

yohn Scott, 

By turns he was placid, irritable, simple, affected, gracious, 
haughty, magnanimous, mean, benevolent, harsh, and some- 
times even brutal. At times he was marked by a child-like 
docility, and at other times his vanity and arrogance displayed 
him almost as a madman. Of plebeian extraction he was 
ashamed of his origin, and yet was throughout life the cham- 
pion of popular interests. Of his real humanity there can be 
no doubt, and yet in his demeanour to the unfortunate crea- 
tures whom, in his capacity as a hospital-physician, he had to 
attend, he was always supercilious and often Qx\\.€i.—yeaffreso7i, 

Akenside has committed the same violations in verse which 
Johnson has in prose. — I. U Israeli, 

There is another of these tame geniuses, a Mr. Akenside, who 
writes odes ; in one he has lately published, he says, " Light 
the tapers, urge the fire.'^ Had not you rather make gods 
jostle in the dark than light the candles for fear that they 
should break their \itd.^'^'^— Horace Walpole, 



Whose heart must eveiy strong emotion know, 

Inspir'd by Nature, or by Fortune taught — 

That he, if haply some presumptuous foe, 

With false ignoble science fraught, 

Shall spurn at Freedom's faithfil band, 

That he their dear defence will shun, 

Or hide their glories from the sun, 

Or deal their vengeance with a woman's hand.— Ed. 



26o Mark Akensidc — Tobias Smollett, 



Him, whose muse 
Now builds the lofty rh}Ti-ie, and nobly wild, 
Crops each unfading flower from Pindar's brow, 
To form fresh garlands for the Naiad train. 

W, Whitehead,^ 

Akenside, in his " Hymn to the Naiads," presents us with 
forms truly antique, but the spirit of life is not in them. He 
imitates the ancients rather than catches their inspiration, and 
the repast which he lays before us, however grand, is served up 
cold. — F.d'uduir^^Ji Ra 'in^ i S 5 o . 

Tobias Smollett. 
1721-1771. 

The person of Smollett was eminently handsome, his features 
prepossessing .... and his conversation in the highest degree 
instructive and amusing. Of his disposition those who have read 
his works (and who has not ?) may form a very accurate esti- 
mate ; for in each of them he has presented, and sometimes 
under various points of view, the leading features of his own 
character, without disguising the most unf:ivourablc of them. — 
Sir JK Scoff. 

Perhaps no book ever ^^Titten excited such peals of inex- 
tinguishable laughter as Smollett's. — Hfid."^ 

You see somehow he is a gentleman, through all his battling 
and struggling, his poverty, his hard-fought successes, and his 
defeats. — Thackeray. 

Smollett, with genius fitted for almost any department of 
literature, seems never to have aimed at adding the character 
of essapst to that of historian, novelist, and critic ; nor was the 



^ William Whitehead was born 1 714. His verses were so highly 
esteemed that in 1757 he became poet-laureate. He had the ill-luck, 
however, to provoke the ridicule of Churchill, whose satire so lowered his 
reputation as a poet that Garrick declined to produce a tragedy of his. He 
was the friend of Gray and of Mason, whose memoir of Whitehead exhibits 
a great kindness for him. He is represented as a blameless, easy, good- 
natured man, without power as a poet, but not without talent as a dramatist. 
He died 1785.— Ed. 

2 '*The novel of 'Humphrey Clinker,' " wrote Thackeray, **is, I do 
think, the most laughable story that has ever been wTitten since the goodly 
art of novel- writing began." 



Tobias Smollett—Samuel Foote. 26 x 

bent of his mind quite fitted for it perhaps by nature. His 
touch was bold, but frequently coarse ] his personages drawn 
with something of caricature ; his humour broad ; his wit, 
descriptions, and incidents sometimes Hcentious and even in- 
decent; his satire shrewd, sarcastic, and often bitter, ex- 
hibiting more of the spirit of Juvenal than Horace. — James 
Prior, 

The Doctor was a man of genius, but he certainly rated it to 
its full value. He was one, too, who abounded in generosity 
and good nature, but was at the same time extremely splenetic 
and revengeful. — Thomas Davies. 



Samuel Foote. 
1721-1777. 

This is the nephew of the gentleman who was lately hung in 
chains for murdering his hxoi\iQx.— Cooke. 

Foote's mimicry was exquisitely ludicrous, but it was all cari- 
cature. He could take off only some strange peculiarity, a 
stammer or lisp, a Northumbrian burr, or an Irish brogue, a 
stoop or a shuffle. " If a man," said Johnson, " hops on one 
leg, Foote can hop on one leg." — Macaiday, 

The first time I was in company with Foote was at Fitzher- 
bert's. Having no good opinion of the fellow, I was resolved 
not to be pleased; and it is very difficult to please a man against 
his will. I went on eating my dinner pretty sullenly, afi"ectiiig 
not to mind him. But the dog was so very comical that I was 
obliged to lay down my knife and fork, throw myself back upon 
my chair, and fairly laugh it out. No, sir, he was irresistible." 
— -Johnson. 

Foote being mentioned, Johnson said, " He is not a good 
mimic." One of the company added, ^'A merry-andrew, a 
bufibon." Johnson : "But he has wit too, and is not deficient 
in ideas, or in fertility and variety of imagery, and not empty of 
reading ; he has knowledge enough to fill up his part. One 
species of wit he has in an eminent degree : that of escape. 
You drive him into a corner with both hands ; but he's gone, 
sir, when you think you have got him — like an animal that 
jumps over your head. Then he has a great range of wit ; he 
never lets truth stand between him and a jest, and he is some- 



262 



SaniiLcl Foote. 



times mighty coarse. Garrick is under many restraints from 
which Foote is free." — Bos7ucU} 

In 1775, having gathered abroad some scandalous anecdotes 
of the Duchess of Kingston, he wrote a farce, entitled "The 
Trip to Calais," in which that notorious woman was grossly cari- 
catured, under the name of ''Lady Kitty Crocrodile." The 
attack was cruel, because the Duchess was in the midst of her 
embarrassments relating to the trial of bigamy; and she had 
sufficient influence with the Lord Chamberlain to obtain a 
refusal to allow it to be acted. Loote expostulated in vain with 
the Lord Chamberlain, and then threatened the Duchess he 
would print the farce unless she gave him two thousand pounds 
to su])press it. The haughty dame entered into a war of letters 
witli him, and showed that slie was no match for caustic satire ; 
but tlicrc is a certain brutality in liis way of trami)ling on an 



^ IJoswell reports an amusing conversation : **Boswell : * Foutc has a 
great deal of humour.' Johnson: * Yes, sir.' Boswkll : *lle has 
a singular talent of exhibiting character.' Johnson: 'Sir, it is not a 
talent, it is a vice : it is what others abstain from. It is not comedy which 
exhibits the character of a species, as that of a miser gathered from many 
misers; it is farce which exhibits individuals.* Boswell : * Did not he 
think of exhil)iting you, sir?' Johnson: * Sir, fear restrained him ; he 
knew I would have broken his lx)nes. I would have saved him the trouble 
of cutting off a leg ; I would not have left him a leg to cut olT.' 
Boswell : 'Pray, sir, is not Foote an infidel?' Johnson: *I do not 
know, sir, that the fellow is an infidel ; but if he be an infidel, he is an 
infidel as a dog is an infidel ; that is to say, he has never thought upon the 
subject.' JiosWELL : *I suppose, sir, he has thought superficially, and 
seized the first notions which occurred to his mind.' Jchinson : ' Why, 
then, sir, still he is like a dog, that snatches the piece next him. Did you 
never observe that dogs have not the power of comparing? A dog will 
take a small piece of meat as readily as a lar£Te, when both are before 
him.'*' Boswell adds the following note: "When Mr. Foote was at 
Edinburgh he thought fit to entertain a numerous .Scotch company with a 
great deal of coarse jocularity at the expense of Dr. Johnson, imagining it 
would be acceptable. I felt this as not civil to me, but sat very patiently 
till he had exhausted his merriment on that subject ; and then obser^-ed that 
surely Johnson must be allowed to have some sterling wit, and that I had 
heard him say a very good thing of Mr. Foote himself. ' Ah ! my old 
friend Sam !' cried Foote, * no man says better things ; do let us have it.' 
Upon which I told the above stor}-, which produced a very loud laugh 
from the company. But I never saw Foote so disconcerted. He looked 
grave and angiy, and entered into a serious refi.itation of the justice of the 
remark. ' What, sir !' said he, * talk thus of a man of liberal education — 
a man who for years was at the Universit}* of Oxford — a man who has 
added sixteen new characters to the drama of his country !' " 



Samuel Foote, 



263 



unfortunate woman which makes us feel how pernicious to 
society a character Hke Foote's must ever be. A Rev. Mr. 
Jackson .... was the Duchess's agent in her transaction with 
Foote. The latter, finding he was likely to get nothing out of 
the Duchess of Kingston, altered the name of his farce to the 
Capuchin," omitted all that related to the Duchess, but brought 
in her agent, the parson. Jackson (it was said, at the instiga- 
tion of the Duchess of Kingston) revenged himself by charging 
Foote with a revolting offence ; and although honourably ac- 
quitted, the disgrace bore so heavy upon his mind, that he never 
recovered it. — Wright, 

By turns transform'd into all kinds of shapes, 

Constant to none, Foote laughs, cries, struts and scrapes \ 

Now in the centre, now in van or rear, 

The Proteus shifts, bawd, parson, auctioneer, 

His strokes of humour, and his bursts of sport. 

Are all contain'd in this one word, T>\%\.o\'i,—ChiirchilL 

Mad wag ! who pardon'd none, nor spared the best^ 
And turned some very serious things to jest. 
Nor Church nor State escaped his public sneers. 
Arms, nor the gown, priests, lawyers, volunteers ; 

Alas ! poor Yorick !" now for ever mute ; 
Whoever loves a laugh must sigh for Foote. — Byron, 

Foote was by far the better scholar of the two (i.e.^ better than 
Garrick), and to this superiority he added also a good taste, a 
warm imagination, a strong turn for mimicry, and a constant 
fresh supply of extensive occasional reading from the best 
authors of all descriptions. Though he was not deficient in 
paying his respects to men of rank and fashion, he never sought 
them, with any kind of unbecoming eagerness, or made the least 
distinction at his table between them and the obscurest guest. 
When that table, too, was all in a roar, as it usually was, he 
never stopped the career of his bons-mots out of respect to 
persons ; it as readily struck a noble duke as a poor player. — 
Cooke, 

Foote was certainly a great and fertile genius, superior to that 
of any writer of the age ; his dramatic pieces were most of them, 
it is true, unfinished, and several of them little more than 
sketches ; but they are the sketches of a master, of one who, if 
he had laboured more assiduously, could have brought them 
nearer to perfection, Foote saw the foUies and vices of man- 



264 



Smnuel Foote — Ihomas Blacklock. 



kind with a quick and discerning eye ; his discrimination of 
characters was quick and exact \ his humour pleasant, his 
ridicule keen, his satire pungent, and his wit brilliant and exu- 
berant. He described with fidelity the changeable follies and 
fashions of the times ; and his pieces, like those of Ben Jonson, 
were calculated to please the audience of the day ; and for this 
reason posterity will scarcely know anything of them. — Thomas 
Davics. 

He was every sort of actor, sir : he took his colour, tone, and 
feeling from the person he acted with. The mimicking propen- 
sity was so strong in him that he was always approximating to the 
manners of the man, woman, or child opposite to him. Had 
he been left alone with a bear, in a quarter of an hour he'd 
have been upon all-fours, and longing for a muzzle. — Tate 
Wilkin so /I. 

Thomas Blacklock. 
1721-1791. 

His poems are very extraordinary productions. — Southey. 

As an author, under disadvantages which seem unsurmount- 
able to nature, Blacklock has eminently distinguished himself 
Though blind from his infancy, the impulse of curiosity and 
the vigorous exertion of his talents conducted him to un- 
common knowledge. He acquired tongues and arts by the 
car, in many of which he excelled. There was no science 
Avith which he was not acquainted ; he was familiar with the 
learned languages, an,d he knew with accuracy those of modern 
Europe that are the most cultivated. Among philosophers he 

has attained a conspicuous rank As a poet, though not 

of the highest rank, he is entided to a rank not inferior to 
Addison, Parnell, and Shenstone. — Dr. A?iderso?i. 

All those who ever acted as his amanuenses agree in this 
rapidity and ardour of composition which Mr. Jameson ascribes 
to him. He never could dictate till he stood up ; and as his 
blindness made walking about without assistance inconvenient 
or dangerous to him, he fell insensibly into a sort of vibratory 
motion of his body, which increased as he warmed with his 
subject and was pleased with the conceptions of his mind. 
This motion at last became habitual to him, and though he 
could sometimes restrain it when on ceremony or in any public 



Thomas Blacklock, 



265 



appearance, such as preaching, he felt a certain uneasiness 
from the effort, and always returned to it when he could indulge 
it without impropriety. This is the appearance which he de- 
scribes in the ludicrous picture he has drawn of himself.— 
ITenry Mackenzie} 

Dr. Blacklock one day, harassed by the censures of the popu- 
lace, whereby not only his reputation but his very subsistence 
was endangered, and fatigued with mental exertion, fell asleep 
after dinner. Some hours after he was called upon by a friend, 
answered his salutation, rose and went with him into the 
dining-room, where some of his companions were met. He joined 
with two of them in a concert, singing as usual with taste and 
elegance, without missing a note or forgetting a word 3 he then 
went to supper and drank a glass or two of wine. His friends, 
however, observed him to be a little absent and inattentive j 
by-and-by he began to speak to himself, but in so slow and 
confused a manner as to be unintelligible. At last being pretty 
forcibly roused, he awoke with a sudden start, unconscious of 
all that had happened, as till then he had continued fast asleep. 
.... No one will suspect either the judgment or veracity of 
Dr. Blacklock. All who knew him bear testimony to his judg= 
ment ; his fame rests on a better foundation than fictitious 
narratives ; no man delights in or more strictly adheres on all 
points to the truth. — Dr. Cleghom. 

He (Johnson) talked of Blacklock's poetry so far as it 
was descriptive of visible objects; and observed that as 
its author had the misfortune to be blind, we may be abso- 
lutely sure that such passages are combinations of what he 



^ Henry Mackenzie, "the amiable and ingenious author of the ^ Man of 
Feeling, ' as he is almost invariably termed by his contemporaries, seems 
to have entertained a high notion of Blacklock's poetical genius: "his 
poems," says he, "breathe the purest spirit of piety, virtue, and bene- 
volence," and liberally applies to him the epithets " elegance," " beauty," 
" force," " spirit," and " originality." The truth is, Blacklock has neither 
beauty nor force, neither spirit nor originality. But he is undoubtedly 
"elegant" in the sense that Pope is elegant. The lines referred to by 
Mackenzie are these : — 

Yet though my person fearless may be seen, 
There is some danger in my graceful mien ; 
For as some vessel, toss'd by wind and tide, 
Bounds o'er the waves and rocks from side to side, 
In just vibration thus I always move. — Ed. 



266 Thomas Blacklock — Christopher Smart. 



has remembered of the works of other authors who could 
see. That fooHsh fellow, Spence, has laboured to explain 
philosophically how Blacklock may have done, by means 
of his own faculties, what it is impossible he should do. The 
solution, as I have given it, is plain. Suppose I know a man 
to be so lame that he is absolutely incapable to move himself, 
and I find him in a difterent room from that in which I left 
him, shall I puzzle myself with idle conjectures that perhaps 
his nerves have by some unknown change all at once become 
effective ? No, sir ; it is clear how he got into a difterent 
room ; he ^^'as carried^ — Bosj^'cITs yohusonr 

He was the worthiest and kindest of human beings, and par- 
ticularly delighted in encouraging the pursuits and opening the 
minds of the young people by whom he was surrounded. I, 
though at the period of our intimacy, a very young boy, was 
fortunate enough to attract his notice and kindness ; and if I 
have been at all successful in the paths of literary pursuit, I am 
sure I owe much of the success to the books with which he sup- 
plied me, and his own instructions. — Sir W. Scott. 

There never was, perhaps, one among all mankind whom 
men might ha\'e more truly called an angel upon earth than Dr. 
Blacklock. He was guileless and innocent as a child, yet en- 
dowed with manly sagacity and penetration. His heart was a 
perpetual sj.ring of benignity. His feelings were all tremblingly 
ahve to the sense of the sublime, the beautiful, the tender, the 
pious, the virtuous. Poetry to him was the dear solace of per- 
petual blindness. — James Hogg. 

Christopher Smart 
1722-1770. 

Johnson : ]Madness frequently discovers itself merely by un- 
necessary deviation from the usual modes of the world. My 
poor friend Smart showed the disturbance of his mind by falling 
upon his knees and saying his prayers in the street or in any 
other unusual place. Now, although rationally speaking, it is 
greater madness not to pray at all than to pray as Smart did, I 
am afraid there are so many who do not pray, that their under- 
standing is not called in question." Concerning this unfortu- 
nate poet, Christopher Smart, he had at another time the 
follo\\ing conversation with Dr. Burney : — Bumey : How does 



Christopher Smart, 



2S7 



poor Smart do, sir; is he likely to recover?" Johnson : It 
seems as if his mind had ceased to struggle with the disease \ 
for he grows fat upon it." Burney : Perhaps, sir, that may be 
from want of exercise." Johnson : " No, sir; he has partly as 
much exercise as he used to have, for he digs in the garden. 
Indeed, before his confinement he used for exercise to walk to 
the alehouse ; but he was carried back again. I did not think 
he ought to be shut up. His infirmities were not noxious to 
society. He insisted on people praying with him ; and I'd as 
lief pray with Kit Smart as any one else. Another charge was 
that he did not love clean linen ; and I have no passion for 
it." — BosiuelFs Life of yohnson!' 

In the first rank of the elegant writers of Latin, among our 
English poets, Jonson, May, Crashaw, Cowley, Milton, Mar- 
veil, Addison, Gray, Warton, &c.. Smart stands very high.— 
A?tde7^so7i. 

. As a poet his genius has never been questioned by those 
who censured his carelessness, and commiserated the unhappy 
vacillation of his mind. He is sometimes not only greatly 
irregular, but irregularly great. His errors are those of a bold 
and daring spirit, which bravely hazards what a vulgar mind 
could never suggest. Shakspeare and Milton are sometimes 
wild and irregular ; but it seem.s as if originality alone could try 
experiments. Accuracy is timid and seeks for authority. Fowls 
of feeble wing seldom quit the ground, though at full liberty, 
while the eagle unrestrained soars into unknown regions. — Ibid, 

There are men who write because they have wit ; there are 
those who write because they are hungry ; .... of the first 
one sees an instance in Fielding ; Smart, with equal right, 
stands foremost among the second. — Sir John Hill, 

The late Christopher Smart is said to have written poems at 
four years of age. His "Song to David" has been justly 
deemed a wonder in the moral world, and deserving as much 
the investigation of the philosophers as the admiration of the 
lover of poetry ; and yet this poem was composed while the 
unfortunate bard was confined to a madhouse; and in the 
absence of pen, ink, and paper, which were denied him, was. 
written on the walls of his room with a key. It is a sublime 
production, and glows with religious fervour. — '-^ Percy A?iecdofes.^^ 



268 



Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
1723-1792. 

His admirable ^^Discourses'' contain such a body of just 
criticism, clothed in such perspicuous, elegant, and nervous 
language, that it is no exaggerated panegyric to assert that they 
will last as long as the English language, and contribute, not less 
than the productions of his pencil, to render his name immortal. 
— Norihcotc. 

The idol of every company. — ILvinah More. 

Plis pencil was striking, resistless, and grand, 

His manners were gentle, comjjlying, and bland ; 

Still born to improve us in every part. 

His pencil our fiiices, his manners our heart ; 

To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering. 

When they judged without skill, he was still hard of hearing; 

When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff. 

He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuft". — Goldsjuiili. 

There was something singular in the style and economy of 
Sir Joshua's table that contributed to pleasantry and good 
humour ; a coarse, inelegant plenty, without any regard to order 
and arrangement. A table prepared for seven or eight was 
often compelled to contain fifteen or sixteen. When this press- 
ing difficulty was got over, a deficiency of knives, plates, forks, 
and glasses succeeded. The attendance was in the same style, 
and it was absolutely necessary^ to call instantly for beer, bread, 
or wine, that you might be supplied with them before the first 
course was over. He was once prevailed on to furnish the 
table with decanters and glasses at dinner, to save time and 
prevent the tardy manceu\Tes of two or three occasional undis- 
ciphned domestics. As these accelerating utensils were demo- 
lished in the course of service. Sir Joshua would never be 
persuaded to replace them. But these trifling embarrassments 
only served to enhance the hilarity and singular pleasure of the 
entertainment. The wines, cooker)^ and dishes were but 
little attended to \ nor was the fish or venison ever talked of or 
recommended. Amidst this convivial, animated bustle among 
his guests, our host sat perfectly composed ; always attentive to 
what was said, never minding what was eat or drunk, but left 
every one at perfect liberty to scramble for himself. Temporal 



Sir Joshua Reynolds, 



26g 



and spiritual peers, physicians, lawyers, actors, and musicians 
composed the motley group, and played their parts without 
dissonance or discord. — Courtmay, 

I have been informed by Sir Thomas Lawrence, his admirer 
and rival, that in 1787 his (Sir Joshua's) prices were two hun- 
dred guineas for the whole length, one hundred for the half- 
length, seventy for the kit-cat, and fifty for what is called the 
three-quarters. But even on these prices some increase must 
have been made, as Horace Walpole said, "Sir Joshua in his 
old age became avaricious. He had one thousand guineas for 
my picture of the three Ladies Waldegrave." — -J, W. Croker, 

Of Reynolds all good should be said, and no harm ; 

Tho' the heart is too frigid, the pencil too warm. 

Yet each fault from his converse we still must disclaim, 

As his temper 'tis peaceful, and pure as his fame ; 

Nothing in it o'erflows, nothing ever is wanting, 

It nor chills like his kindness, nor glows like his painting. 

When Johnson by strength overpowers our mind, 

When Montagu dazzles, and Burke strikes us blind, 

To Reynolds well pleas'd for reHef we must run, 

Rejoice in his shadow, and shrink from the sun. 

Mad, Piozzi. 

The most invulnerable man I know; whom, if I should 
quarrel with him, I should find the most difiiculty how to abuse 
him. — -Johnson, 

Sir Joshua was always thinking of his art. He was one day 
walking with Dr. Lawrence, near Beaconsfield, when they met 
a beautiful little peasant boy. Sir Joshua, after looking 
earnestly at the child, exclaimed, " I must go home and deepen 
the colouring of my Infant Herades,^^ The boy was a good 
deal sunburnt.— i^^^-^rj-.^ 



■ ■ 1 In Rogers's Table Talk" I find the following : I can hardly believe 
what was told to me a long time ago by a gentleman living in the Temple, 
who, however, assured me that it was a fact. He happened to be passing 
by Sir Joshua's house in Leicester Square, when he saw a poor girl seated 
on the steps, and crying bitterly. He asked what was the matter ; and she 
replied that she was crying ' because the one shilling which she had received 
from Sir Joshua for sitting to him as a model had proved to be a' bad one, 
and he would not give her another.' " Sir Joshua has not yet been success- 
fully vindicated from the charge of meanness in small things^ which has 
been repeatedly brought against him. — Ed. 



270 Sir Joshua Reynolds — Adam Smith. 



They (the '"Discourses") are subdued, mild, unaffected, 
thoughtful — containing sensible observations, on which he laid 
too little stress, and vague theories which he was not able to 
master. There is the same character of mind in what he wrote, 
as of eye in what he painted. His style is gentle, flowing, and 
bland; there is an inefticicnt outline, with a mellow, felicitous, and 
delightful filling up. In both the taste predominates over the 
genius ; the manner o\'er the matter ! The real groundwork 
of Sir Joshua's Discourses " is to be found in Richardson's 
*^Essays." — Edinbur^^Ji RrcicK^, 1820. 

During the whole course of his long and large practice it 
may safely be said that neither the mind nor hand of Reynolds 
ever slept or stood still. He never fell into dead-alive routine 
or mindless repetition. He always painted with keen relish, 
was ever alive to beauty and character, never unobservant — 
though often strangely ignorant — of the chemical and mechani- 
cal workings of his materials, and ready to record on the instant 
any fresh impressions. '' Stop !" he said to a lady, as, turning 
from his easel on her entrance into his painting room, he saw a 
striking effect of half-shadow on the face from the flat Woffington 
hat intercepting the high light of the studio window. And as 
she stood just beyond the doorway, her face half light, half 
shadow, he had put a clean canvas on the easel, and was 
rapidly laying in the masses of tlie portrait. — C, R, Leslie, 

Adam Smith. 
1723-1790. 

Smith was a man of extraordinary application, and had his 
mind crowded with all manner of subjects He had book- 
making so much in his thoughts, and was so chary of what 
might be turned to account in that way, that he once said to 
Sir Joshua Reynolds that he made it a rule when in company 
never to talk of what he understood. Beauclerk had for a short 
time a high opinion of Smith's conversation ; Garrick, after 
listening to him awhile, as to one of whom his expectations had 
been raised, turned slily to a friend and whispered to him, 
What say you to this, eh? Flabby, I think." — BoswelL 

Mr. Boswell has chosen to omit, for reasons which will be 
presently obvious, that Johnson and Adam Smith met at 
Glasgow; but I have been assured by Professor John Miller that 



Adam Smith. 



271 



they did so, and that Smith, leaving the party in which he had 
met Johnson, happened to come to another company where 
Miller was. Knowing that Smith had been in Johnson's 
society, they were anxious to know what had passed, and the 
more so as Dr. Smith's temper seemed much ruffled. At first 
Smith would only answer He's a brute— he's a brute !" but 
on closer examination it appeared that Johnson no sooner saw 
Smith than he attacked him for some point of his famous letter 
on the death of Hume. Smith vindicated the truth of his 
statement. ^^What did Johnson say?" was the universal in- 
quiry. Why, he said," replied Smith, with the deepest im- 
pression of resentment, ^^he said, you lieP'' ^'And v\^hatdid you 

reply?" I said, you are a son of a 1" On such terms did 

these two great morahsts meet and part, and such was the 
classical dialogue between the two great teachers of philosophy.^ 
^Sir W. Scott 

He (Wilkie) considered Dr. Smith as a superior genius to 
Mr. Hume, He possessed, in his opinion, equal learning, and 
greater originality and invention \ for, what may appear strange, 
he by no means considered Mr, Hume as an original or inven- 
tive genius. — Aiidersoifs ''''Life of Wilkie.^^ 

When I first saw Smith he was at breakfast, eating straw- 
berries, and he descanted on the superior flavour of those grown 
in Scotland. I found him very kind and communicative. He 
was (what Robertson was not) a man who had seen a great 
deal of the world. Once, in the course of conversation, I 
happened to remark of some writer that " he was rather super- 
ficial — a Voltaire." "Sir," cried Smith, striking the table with 
his hand, " there has been but o?ie YoltdaxQ J' Sam. Rogers^ 
« Table Talk:' 

The practical usefulness of Dr. Smith's work is undoubtedly 
no longer what it was. The principles which he advocated 
with such force of reasoning and illustration have, to a great 
extent, passed into axioms in political science, and form the 
general basis of commercial legislation in Europe. Nothing 
more strongly shows the advance of those principles than the 
mode in which the application of them to any particular subject- 
matter is still resisted by those who have an interest in opposing it. 



^ Mr. Croker contradicts this anecdote (Boswell's ''Life of Johnson"). 
But Scott has been vindicated and his assertion substantiated by some 
pungent comments in ih.^ Edinburgh Review, -^'Et). 



272 



Adam Sinitli. 



Instead of condemning them in the kimp, as heretofore, the anti- 
free-trade reasoner is now ahiiost always employed in discovering 
mgenious reasons for making this or that species of industry an 
exception to the common rule ; and although it is often com- 
plained, with justice, that economical science has had, as yet, very 
imperfect results, because the advance of governments towards 
liberal systems of cxtcnial trade is so precarious and interrupted, 
yet we are apt to forget how great a mass of far more oppres- 
sive restrictions on domestic commerce and the rights of 
industry have been removed in ahnost every part of Europe 
since the appearance of Dr. Smith's ''Essay" — a great work of 
which no one has so much right as lie to enjoy the honour. — 
Ed'uiburgh Rrcirii\ 1840. 

Adam Smith, by the publication of one solitary work, con- 
tributed more towards the happiness of man than has been 
effected by the united abiHties of all the statesmen and legis- 
lators of whom liistory has preserved an authentic account. — //. 
T, Buckle. 

An indirect application was made to me to furnish a set of 
notes for a new edition of Smith's "Wealth of Nations;" this, 
of course, I declined, because I had other things to attend to. 
Even if I had been prepared for such an inidertaking, which I 
certainly am not yet, 1 should be reluctant to expose Smith's 
errors before his work has operated its full effect. We owe 
much at present to the superstitious worship of Smith's name ; 
and we must not impair that feeling until the victory is more 
complete. Until we can give a correct and precise theory of 
the nature and origin of wealth, his popular, and plausible, and 
loose hypothesis is as good for the vulgar as any other. — 
Francis Horner} 



^ Francis Homer was amongst the earliest contributors to the Edinburgh 
Rei'ircv. He is represented as a man of genius, and his immature death 
provoked an expression of tender regret from individuals of every shade 
of opinion. He was born 1778, and died 181 7. Sydney Smith, in 
describing his appearance, says, "There was something very remarkable in 
his countenance ; the commandments were written on his face, and I have 
often told him there was not a crime he might not commit with impunity, 
as no judge or jury who saw him would give the smallest degree of credit 
to any evidence against him. There was in his look a calm settled love of 
all that was honourable and good— an air of sweetness and of wisdom ; 
you saw at once that he was a great man, whom nature had intended for a 
leader of human beings." — Ed. 



273 



Christopher Anstey. 
1724-1805. 

There is a new thing pubHshed that will make you spHt your 
cheeks with laughter. It is called " The New Bath Guide." 
It stole into the world, and for a fortnight no soul looked into 
it, concluding its name was its true name. No such thing. It 
is a set of letters in verse, describing the life at Bath, and, 
incidentally, everything else ; but so much wit, so much 
humour, fun, and poetry, never met together before. I can say 
it by heart, and if I had time would write it you down, for it is 
not yet reprinted, and not one to be had. — Horace Walpole, 

Have you read The New Bath Guide ?" It is the only thing 
in fashion, and is a new and original kind of humour. Miss 
Prue's conversation, I doubt, you will paste down, as a certain 
Yorkshire baronet did before he carried it to his daughters j 
yet I remember you all read Crazy Tales " without pasting. — 
Gray, 

Originally a country gentleman from Cambridgeshire, gout 
and a numerous family had driven this poetaster from his life 
of rural occupation to these then fashionable watering-places 
(Bath and Cheltenham), and there he long flourished, visible at 
every gay assembly in his tie wig, single-breasted and laced 
coat, with point-lace ends to his lawn cravat, his laced white 
satin waistcoat, and his small cocked hat, trimmed with gold 
lace, under his arm. — Grace Wharton, 

I have had a great deal of conversation with Mr. Anstey. I 
found him obliging and polite, but he is one of those poets who 
are better to read than to see. I think him a real genius in the 
way of wit and humour ; but he appears to be of a shy and 
silent cast, and to prefer the quiet solemnity of a whist-table 
to talking parties — Haniiah More, 

Dr. Burney. 
1726-1814. 

He belonged in fortune and station to the middle class. . * * 
His mind though not very powerful or capacious, was restlessly 
active, and, in the intervals of his professional pursuits, he had 

T 



274 



Dr, Btirncy — John Wilkes. 



contrived to lay up much miscellaneous infomiation. His attain- 
ments, the suavity of his temper, and the gentle simplicity of 
his manners, had obtained for him ready admission into the 
first literary circles. — Macaulay, 

He was a man of "very uncommon attainments ; wit born 
with him, I suppose ; learning he had helped himself to, and 
was proud of the possession ; elegance of manners he had so 
cultivated that those who knew but little of the inan^ fancied 
he had great flexibility of mind. It was mere pliancy of body, 
however, and a perpetual show of obsequiousness by bowing in- 
cessantly, as if ackiiQ-i^'lcdgiiig an inferiority which nothing would 
have forced liim to confess. — Madame Piozzi. 



John Wilkes. 
1727-1797. 

lie was a man of taste, reading, and engaging manners. 
His sprightly conversation was the dcHglit of green rooms and 
taverns, and pleased even grave readers when he was sufficiently 
under restraint to abstain from detailing the particulars of his 
amours, and from breaking jests on the New Testament. His 
expensive debaucheries forced him to have recourse to the 
Jews. He was soon a ruined man, and determined to try his 
chance as a political adventurer. In Parliament he did not 
succeed. His speaking, though pert, was feeble, and by no 
means interested his hearers so much as to make them forget 
his face, which was so hideous that the caricaturists were forced 
in their own despite to flatter him. As a writer he made a 
better figure. — Macaulay. 

I think he is safe from the law, but he is an abusive 
scoundrel ; and instead of applying to my Lord Chief Justice 
to punish him, I would send half a dozen footmen and have 
him well ducked. — yohnson. 

Did we not hear so much of Jack Wilkes, we should think 
more highly of his conversation. Jack has a great variety of 
talk. Jack is a scholar, and Jack has the manners of a gentle- 
man. — Ibid. 

Then Satan answer'd, There are many: 
But you may choose Jack Wilkes as well as any. 



jfolin Wilkes. 



275 



A merry cock-eyed, curious-looking sprite, 
Upon the instant started from the throng, 
Dressed in a fashion now forgotten quite ; 
For all the fashions of the flesh stick long. 
By people in the next world ; where unite 
All the costumes since Adam's, right or wrong, 
From Eve's fig-leaf down to the petticoat 
Almost as scanty, of days less remote. — Byron, 

Johnny Wilkes, Johnny Wilkes, 
Thou greatest of bilks, 
How chang'd are the notes you now sing ! 
Your fam'd Forty-five 
Is Prerogative, 
And your blasphemy, " God save the King !" — SheridaiL 

Beholding the foremost, 
Him by the cast of his eye oblique, I knew as the firebrand 
Whom the unthinking populace held for their idol and hero, 
Lord of Misrule in his day. But how was that countenance 
alter'd 

Where emotion of fear or of shame had never been witnessed ; 
That invincible forehead abash'd ; and those eyes wherein 
malice 

Once had been wont to shine with wit and hilarity temper'd, 
Into how deep a gloom their mournful expression had settled ! 
Little avail'd it now that not from a purpose malignant. 
Not with evil intent he had chosen the service of evil ; 
But of his own desires the slave, with profligate impulse. 
Solely by selfishness moved, and reckless of aught that 
might follow. 

Could he plead in only excuse a confession of baseness ? 

Soiithey. 

He was quite as ugly and squinted as much as his portraits 
make him ; but he v>^as very gentlemanly in appearance and man- 
ners. I think I see him at this moment, walking through the 
crowded streets of the City, as Chamberlain, on his way to 
Guildhall, in a scarlet coat, military boots, and a bag-wig, the 
hackney coachmen in vain calling out to him, ''A coach, your 
honour ?" — Sam, Rogers. 

Wilkes was one of the most fascinating companions that 
ever sat over a bottle. When in the House of Commons he 
has frequently detained gentlemen of adverse politics from the 

T 3 



276 



John Wilkes, 



House by his wit and humour, merely to prevent them voting 
on some question in which he felt himself interested ; and so 
attractive was his society that it was difficult for any person to 
tear himself from it ; indeed, wit was so constantly at his com- 
mand, that wagers have been gained that from the time he 
quitted his house near Storey's Gate, till he reached Guildhall, 
no one would speak to him who would leave him without a 
smile or a hearty laugh. Although Earl Sandwich was in con- 
tinual political hostility to Wilkes, no man was more sensible of 
his convivial qualities. When Mr. Charles Butler, who, in an 
appointment with his Lordship, was behind his time, apologized 
by saying he had dined with Mr. Wilkes, "Well," said his 
Lordship, the fascination of Wilkes has made me break ap- 
pointments so often that it is but fair he should make a person 
break his appointment with me for once." — Percy Anecdotes,'" 

The eyes have a portentous squint ; the lips wear a Mephi- 
stophelic grin, and yet there is a charm in the acuteness and 
humour of the physiognomy, in spite of the uneasy, sidelong, 
glancing look, as of one who fears pursuers. It is Wilkes .... 
the intriguing though determined demagogue, whose wit, good 
humour, and keen observation of human weakness and follies 
were all needed to reconcile his decent friends to his coarseness 
and ridicule of most things respectable or venerable. — Leslie's 

Life of Reynoldsr 

The history of Wilkes is well known, and his general cha- 
racter is no longer any matter of controversy. Indeed, it is 
only justice towards him to remark that there was so little 
about him of hypocrisy — the "homage due from vice to 
virtue " being by him paid as rt-luctantly and sparingly as any 
of his other debts — that even while in the height of his popu- 
larity, hardly any doubt hung over his real habits and disposi- 
tions. About liberty, for which he cared little, and would 
willingly have sacrificed less, he made a loud and blustering 
outcry, which was only his way of driving his trade ; but to 
purity of private life, even to its decencies, he certainly made 
no pretence ; and during the time of the mob's idolatry of his 
name, there never existed any belief in his good character as a 
man, however much his partizans might be deceived in their 
notion that he was unlikely to sell them. — Edinburgh Rrciew, 

I scarcely ever met with a better companion ; he has inex- 
haustible spirits, infinite wit and humour, and a great deal of 



John Wilkes— Dr, Thomas Percy, 277 



knowledge. ... a thorough profligate in principle as in prac- 
tice j his life stained with every vice, and his conversation full of 
blasphemy and indecency. These morals he glories in ; for 
shame is a weakness he has long since surmounted. — Gibbon} 

Mr. Wilkes was the pleasantest companion, the politest 
gentleman, and the best scholar I ever \xif\\\—Lord Ma7isfield, 



Dr. Thomas Percy. 
J728-1811, 

Dr. Percy was so abashed by the ridicule flung upon his 
labours from the ignorance and insensibiHty of the persons with 
whom he lived, that, though while he was writing under a mask 
he had not wanted resolution to follow his genius into the 
regions of true simplicity and genuine pathos (as is evinced 
by the exquisite ballad of Sir Cauline/' and by many other 
pieces), yet when he appeared in his own person and character 
as a poetical writer, he adopted, as in the tale of the " Hermit 
of Warkworth," a diction scarcely in any one of its features dis- 
tinguished from the vague, the glossy, and unfeeling language 
of his day. I mention this remarkable fact with regret, esteem- 
ing the genius of Dr. Percy in this kind of writing superior to 
that of any other man by whom in modern times it has been 
cultivated. — Wordsworth. 

Percy's " Reliques" are the most agreeable selection, perhaps, 
which exists in any language. — Ellis. 

He is a man very wiUing to learn and very able to teach ; a 
man out of whose company I never go without having learned 
something. It is true that he vexes me sometimes, but I am 
afraid it is by his making me feel my own ignorance. So much 
extension of mind, and so much minute accuracy of inquiry, if 
you survey your whole circle of acquaintance, you will find so 
scarce, if you find it at all, that you will value Percy by compa- 
rison. — Johnson. 



^ His wit was indeed great ; but for the most part unfit to repeat. 
Many of his mots have been fathered on contemporary or later wits, and 
the very best thing he ever said, — his famous retort to Lord Sandwich's 
brutal and indecent question, I have seen quoted in French and ascribed to 
Mirabeau. — Ed. 



^/S Dr, T/ionas Percy— Oliver Goldsmith, 



At an early period he evinced that strong love of letters which 
furnishes presumptive evidence of an ingenious mind, and 
which, though it may lead to no distinction, gives its possessor 
a favourable place in the estimation of the liberal classes of 
society. In the country, in addition to his proper duties, and 
as one of the most honourable means of aiding in support of a 
young family, he devoted himself to literary pursuits. These 
were of a varied character — being projected editions of the 
Earl of Surrey's, and Villiers, Duke of Buckingham's, Poems ; 
the Spectator and Guardian, with notes ; " Han Kion Choan," 
a Chinese romance ; fine pieces of Runic poetry, translated from 
the Icelandic ; the "Song of Solomon," newly translated from the 
Hebrew ; a "Key to the New Testament and his chief and 
well-known work, in three volumes octavo, the " Reliques," 
already mentioned, a curious and valuable publication, which 
rescued from obscurity or utter oblivion a variety of pieces 
honourable to the ancient poetical genius of our country. He 
produced likewise the "Northumberland Household Book," 
and a translation of Mallet's " Northern Antiquities he was 
the author of "The Hermit of Warkworth," of the popular 
song of ''O Nanny, wilt thou gang wi' me?" and of several 
detached pieces of poetry. — yamcs Prior. 

Oliver Goldsmith. 
1728-1774. 

In all the numerous accounts of his virtues and foibles, his 
genius and absurdities, his knowledge of nature and ignorance 
of the world, his "compassion for another's woe" was always 
predominant. — Geo, Colman, Ju)i. 

Think of him reckless, thoughtless, vain, if }'0u like — but 
merciful, gentle, generous, full of love and pity. His humour 
delighting us still; his song fresh and beautiful as when first he 
charmed with it ; his words in all our mouths ; his very weak- 
nesses beloved and familiar : his benevolent spirit seems still to 
smile on us ; to do gentle kindnesses; to succour with sweet 
charity ; to soothe, caress, and forgive ; to plead ^^ith the for- j 
tunate for the unhappy and the poor. — Thackeray, \ 

He was very much what the French call an etourdi, and from 
vanity and an eager desire of being conspicuous wherever he 
was, he frequently talked carelessly, ^\^thout knowing of the ) 



Oliver Goldsmith. 



279 



subject, or even without thought. His person was short, his 
countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar 
awkwardly affecting the gentleman.— ^^^i-^^^^/Z. . , . , 

No man was more foohsh when he had not a pen m his hand, 
or more wise when he \id.d.,'-^y ohnsoiu 

For shortness calVd Noll, 

Who wrote like an angel, and talk'd like poor Poll' 

Garnck, 



1 The one circumstance in Boswell's life which has been more insisted 
upon than any other as exhibiting the pecuhar httleness of his mind, was 
his jealousy of Goldsmith. Whatever the cause of ^li^s jea o^^^^^^^^^^ 
have been, we maybe sure that it was a contemptible one \ et mcommon 
justice to Boswell/it must be said that in spite of ^"^^ V^}^.^^^'^^^^^^ 

ing that obtrudes upon his remarks, not only is the portrait of Gold mith m 
mtny points remarkable for its accuracy, but that contrasted with the pm- 
traits of him that have survived their writers it is comparatively indulgent.^ 
It implies, I trust, no want of great admiration for the genius, no want oi 
high veneration for the many noble qualities which distinguished the 
character of that great man, to say that in numerous respects GoMsmith wa^ 
almost as anomalous a being as Boswell. He was despised by his colleagues 
in the club. He was jeered at in whatever society he entered. In con- 
versation he was dull. Boswell has indeed vindicated his talking powei-s, 
and recorded one or two humorous remarks. But his wit shmes palely m 
the general blaze of the colloquists by whom he is surrounded. Ot no man 
who has left so great a reputation, who was possessed of so much wit, who 
had in so eminent a degree the power to delight, is there so little testimony 
to his genius to be found outside his books. Though conscious of his own 
incapacity for conversation, he persisted in talking and blundering. He 
had little literature, yet his vanity was too great to allow him to disguise 
his ignorance. He argued when he had no facts ; he doub ed where there 
was no room for disbelief; he affirmed where he had not the means to 
prove. His generosity was attributed to vanity; and even vamty, his 
friends thought, was too moderate a term to apply to a quality which rendered 
a man unjust to many that he might gain the applause of a few. Even his 
poetry was not allowed to be altogether his : for his associates at the club 
regarded Johnson not only as the mender, but in many of the best passages 
the maker of ''The Traveller." I have said this much only to clear 
Boswell a little from the charge of having been grossly unjust to Goldsmith 
in his portrayal. — Ed. , 

2 What Garrick thought of Goldsmith may be also gathered from the 

following lines : — 

Here, Hermes, says Jove, who with nectar was mellow, 

Go fetch me some clay,— I will make an odd fellow ; 

Right and wrong shall be jumbled— much gold and some dross, 

Without cause be he pleased, without cause be he cross ; 

Be sure as I work to throw in contradictions, 

A great love of truth, yet a mind turned to fictions ; 



28o 



Oliver Goldsmith. 



An inspired idiot.^ — Horace Walpole. 

Of all solemn coxcombs, Goldsmidi is die first ; yet sensible, 
— but affects to use Johnson's hard words in conversation. — 
Dr, IVartoN. 

There was in his character much to love, but little to respect. 
His heart was soft even to weakness ; he was so generous that 
he quite forgot to be just ; he forgave injuries so readily that 
he might be said to invite them ; and was so liberal to beggars 



Now mix llioc ingicdieiUs, \vliicli wann'd in the baking, 
TurnM to luiniini^^ and t^iTitiin^^^^ ri/ij^io/i and ra^'/'/ij^. 
With tlie love of a wench, let his writings be chaste ; 
Tip his tongue with strange matter, his pen with fine taste ; 
Tliat tlic rake and the ]^oet o'er all may prevail. 
Set fire to the head and set fire to the tail ; 
For the jay of each sex on the world I'll bestow it, 
This scholar, rake, christian, dupe, gamester, and poet, 
Though a mixture so odd he shall merit great fame. 
And among brother mortals be Goldsmith his name ; 
When on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear, 
Vou, J/cTfNis, shall fetch liim — to make us sport here." 

As a companion to this 1 will quote Judge Day's portrait of him as com- 
municated in a letter to Mr. Prior : — *' In person he was short, about five 
feet five or six inches ; strong, but not heavy in make ; rather fiiir in com- 
plexion, with brown hair, such at least as could be distinguished from his 
wig ; his features were plain but not repulsive — certainly not so when 
lighted up by conversation. His manners were simple, natural, and, 
perhaps, on the whole, we might say not polished, at least without that 
refinement and goocl breeding which the exquisite polish of his compositions 
would lead us to expect. He was always cheerful and animated, often 
indeed boisterous in his mirth ; entered with spirit into convivial society ; 
contributed largely to its enjoyments by solidity of information and the 
va'n'iit' and originality of his character ; talked often without premeditation, 
and laughed loudly without restraint."-— Ed. 

^ Walpole was not less accurate in his judgment of Goldsmith's character 
than in his opinion of Goldsmith's play : it is in this manner that this most 
ingenious cynic (who exhibited amazing enidition on the subject of the 
Rowley Poems, after he had been crammed by his friends, Gray, Mason, 
and Warton) writes of " She Stoops to Conquer :"— " What play makes 
you laugh very much, and yet is a veiy wretched comedy? Dr. 
Goldsmith's * She Stoops to Conquer.' Stoops, indeed !— so she does, 
that is, the muse ; she is draggled up to the knees, and has trudged, 
I believe, from Southwark fair. The whole view of the piece is low 
humour, and no humour is in it. All the merit is in the situations, 
which are comic ; the heroine has no more modesty than Lady Bridget, 
and the author's wit is as much manque as the lady's ; but some of the 
characters are well acted, and Woodward speaks a poor prologue, written 
by Garrick, admirably. 



Oliver Goldsmith. 



281 



that he had nothing left for his tailor and his butcher. He was 
vain, sensual, frivolous, profuse, improvident. One vice of a 
darker shade was imputed to him, ^-my —Macaulay, 

A mere literary drudge, equal to the task of compiling and 
translating; but httle capable of original, and still less of 
poetical composition. — Hawkins, 

He was a friend to virtue, and in his most playful pages 
never forgets what is due to it. A gentleness, delicacy, and 
purity of feeling distinguish whatever he wrote, and bear a cor- 
respondence to the generosity of a disposition which knew no 
bounds but his last guinea. — Sir W. Scott. 

He seems from infancy to have been compounded of two 
natures, one bright, the other blundering, or to have fairy gifts 
laid in his cradle by the " good people " who haunted his birth- 
place, the old goblin mansion on the banks of the Inny. — 
Washmgto7t Irving. 

He hardly knew an ass from a mule, nor a turkey from a 
goose, but when he saw it on the table. — R. Ctmberland. 

Goldsmith could not be termed a thinker; but everything he 
touched he brightened, as after a month of dry weather the 
shower brightens the dusty shrubbery of a suburban villa. — 
Alexa?ider Smith. 

From our Goldsmith's anomalous character, who 

Can withhold his contempt, and his reverence too ? 

From a poet so polished, so paltry a fellow ! 

From critic, historian, or vile Punchinello ! 

From a heart in which meanness had made her abode, 

From a foot that each path of vulgarity trod ; 

From a head to invent, and a hand to adorn, 

Unskill'd in the schools, a philosopher born. 

By disguise undefended, by jealousy smit, 

This hcsus naturce^ nondescript in wit, 

May best be compared to those Anamorphoses 

Which for lectures to ladies th' optician proposes. 

Mad, Piozzi} 



^ The verses by Madame Piozzi on Goldsmith, Garrick, Reynolds, and 
Burke are quoted from a set of stanzas (including portraits 01 Lyttleton, 
Johnson, Lord Sandys, Murphy, Baretti, and Chambers) which were 
suggested to Madame Piozzi by the various pictures painted by Reynolds 
in the library at Streatham. Mr., Mrs., and Miss Thrale were also there, 



282 



Oliver Goldsmith. 



The most delightful man was Goldsmith. She (Mrs. 
Gwatkin) saw him and Garrick keeping an immense party 
laughing till they shrieked. Garrick sat on Goldsmith's knee, 
a table-cloth was pinned under Garrick's chin, and brought 
behind Goldsmith, hiding both their figures. Garrick then 
spoke in his finest style Hamlet's speech to his father's ghost. 
Goldsmith put out his hands on each side of the cloth, and 
made burlescjue action — tapping his heart, and putting his 
hand to Garrick's liead and nose^ all at the wrong time. — J), 
Ji. HaydoJi. 

He paints the peculiarities of mankind minutely, yet with 
ease and freedom of hand, as if the task of observing and 
detaihng cost him no effort. With all the tenderness of a 
fellow-mortal conscious of the o]KTation of human passions and 
frailties witiiin himself, he was willing to be gentle yet corrective 
in dealing with those of others ; and this, perhaps, forms one of 
his claims to what Johnson has called him in the epitaph, Icnis 
dom 'uiator. " — y antes Prior. 

His elegant and enchanting style flowed from him with so 
much f:icility that in whole cjuires of his histories, " Animated 
Nature," cVc, he had seldom occasion to correct or alter a single 
word. — Bishop Percy. 

W'lK-n Goldsmith entered a room, sir, people who did not 



ami the portrait of Dr. Bumey was afterwards added. Madame Piozzi 
thus commented on her o\w\ portrait : — 

In these features so placid, so cool, so serene, 
What trace of the wit or the Welshwoman's seen? 
Wliat trace of the tender, the rough, the refm'd, 
The soul in which such contrarieties join'd ! 
Wliere, tho' merriment loves over method to rule, 
Religion resides and the virtues keep school. 
Till when tir'd we condemn her dogmatical air. 
Like a rocket she rises and leaves us to stare ! 
To such contmdictions d'ye wish for a clue ? 
Keep vanity still, that vile passion, in view. 
For 'tis thus the slow minor his fortime to make, 
Of ai-senic thus scattered pursues the pale ti-ack. 
Secure where that poison pollutes the rich ground 
That it points to the place where some silver is found. 
The pictures were sold by auction in i8i6. The portrait of Mrs. Piozzi 
and her daughter fetched 8i/. i8j. ; Goldsmith, 133/. ^5. ;' Reynolds, 
128/. 2s. ; Garrick, 138/. 150. ; Bumey, 84/. \ Burke, 252/. \ Johnson, 
378/., &c.— Ed. 



Oliver Goldsmith. 



283 



know him became for a moment silent, from awe of his literary 
reputation ; when he came out again they were riding on his 
back. — Northcote. 

His prose may be regarded as the model of perfection, and 
the standard of our language. — Dr. Anderson. 

There is something in Goldsmith's prose that, to my ear, is 
uncommonly sweet and melodious ; it is clear, simple, easy to 
be understood. We never want to read his period over except 
for the pleasure it bestows ; obscurity never calls us back to a 
repetition of it. — R. Cumberland. 

The weath of Goldsmith is unsullied ; he wrote to exalt 
virtue and expose vice, and he accomplished his task in a 
manner that raises him to the highest rank among British 
authors. — Sir JV. Scoff. 

His descriptions and sentiments have the pure zest of nature. 
He is refined without false delicacy, and correct without in- 
sipidity. Perhaps there is an intellectual composure in his 
manner which may in some passages be said to approach to the 
reserved and prosaic, but he unbends from this graver strain of 
reflection to tenderness, and even to playfulness, with an ease 
and grace almost exclusively his own, and connects extensive 
views of the happiness and interests of society with pictures of 
life that touch the heart by their unfamiliarity.— 77/(?;/7(7i' 
Campbe//. 

The Doctor was a perfect heteroclite, an inexpHcable exis- 
tence in creation ; such a compound of absurdity, envy, and 
malice, contrasted with the opposite virtues of kindness, gene- 
rosity and benevolence, that he might be said to consist of two 
distinct souls, and to be influenced by the agency of a good 
and bad spirit. — T/iomas Davies, Life of Garrick.'^ 

The other day Goldsmith dined here. It was the first time 
I ever saw him. I had before told Sir Joshua and Miss 
Reynolds that I had a great curiosity to see him ; and when I 
came into the room the first word Sir Joshua said to me was, 

This is Dr. Goldsmith, Mr. Northcote, whom you so much 
wished to see. Why did you desire to see him?" The sudden- 
ness of the question rather confused me, and I replied, 
''Because he is a notable man," This, in one sense of the 
word, was so unlike his character, that Sir Joshua kughed 
heartily, and said he should in future always be called "the 
notable man," but what I meant was, a man of note or 
eminence. He seems an unaffected and most good-natured 



284 



Oliver GoldsviitJi — Ednmnd Burke. 



man, but knows very little about pictures, as he often confesses, 
with a laugh. — Northcotc. 
That man is a poet. — Gray. 

Edmund Burke. 
1730-1797. 

I admire liis eloquence, I approve his politics, I adore his 
chivalry, and I can almost excuse his reverence for Churcli 
establishments. — Gibbon, " Memoirs.'' 

Burke, sir, is such a man that if you met him for the first 
time in the street where you were stopped by a drove of oxen, 
and you and lie stepped aside to take shelter but for five 
minutes, lie'd talk to you in such a manner that when you 
parted, }Ou'd say, •* This is an extraordinary m:i\\.''— Jo/in son. 

The variety of his alkisions and splendour of his imagery 
liave made such an imjjression on all the rest of the world, 
that superficial observers are apt to overlook his other merits, 
and to sui)pose that 7C'it is his chief and most prominent ex- 
cellence ; when, in fact, it is only one of the many talents that 
he possesses, which are so various and extraordinary that it 
is very difficult to ascertain precisely the rank and value of 
each. — Malojie, 

Burke was a damned wrong-headed fellow, through his whole 
life jealous and obstinate. — Fox. 

Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such 
We scarcely can praise it or blame it too much \ 
Who born for the universe, narrow'd his mind. 
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind. 
Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat, 
To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote ; 
Who too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, 
And thought of convincing while they thought of dining. 

GoldsmitJi. 

Though I think him the greatest man upon the earth, yet 
in politics I think him — what he has been found to the 
sorrow of those who act with him. — Dr. Parr. 

There was Burke, ignorant indeed, or negligent of the art 
of adapting his reasonings and style to the capacity and taste 
of his hearers ; but in amplitude of comprehension and rich- 
ness of imagination, superior to every orator ancient or mo- 
dern. — Macaidaj \ 



Edmund Burke. 



285 



See Eurke's bright intelligence beam from his face, 
To his language gives splendour, his actions gives grace ; 
Let us list to the learning that tongue can display, 
Let it steal all reflection, all reason away \ 
Lest home to his house we the patriot pursue, 
Where scenes of another sort rise to our view. 

Madame Piozzi. 
His mind was like an over-decorated chapel, filled with 
; gauds and shows and badly assorted ornaments. — y. P. Curran. 

The greatest philosopher in practice whom the world ever 
saw. — Sir J, MackintosJu 

Talked of Burke ; agreed in enthusiastic admiration of his 
talents. Lord L(ansdowne) inclined to defend his latter doc- 
trines, and to look upon them as not so inconsistent with his 
former ones as they are generally represented ; particularly as 
there was nothing impeachable in his character throughout life 
that could lead one to suspect him of interested motives in 
changing, though certainly his receiving the pension at the 
time was rather a suspicious coincidence. On my reminding 
him, however, of some circumstances in Burke's life, the money 
he received from Lord Rockingham, &c., &c., he seemed 
rather to surrender this favourable view of the rudXt^x— Thomas 
Moore's ''Diary:' 

You always went from Burke with your mind filled ; from 
Fox with your feelings excited \ and from Pitt with wonder at 
his having had the power to make the worse appear the better 
reason. — Wordsworth?' 

Mr. Burke, in spite of his great talents and zeal, was by no 
means popular. There was a tone of dictatorship in his public 
demeanour against which men naturally rebelled ; and the im- 
petuosity and passion with which he flung himself into every 
favourite subject, showed a want of self-government but little 
calculated to inspire respect. Even his eloquence, various and 
splendid as it was, failed in general to win or command the at- 
tention of his hearers .... there was a something — which those 
who have but read him can with difficulty conceive — that 
marred the impression of his most sublime and glowing dis- 
plays. In vain did his genius put forth its most superb plumage, 



^ This was said by Wordsworth to Moore, and is quoted by Moore in 
his Diary." 



286 



Edmund Burke. 



glittering all over witli the hundred eyes of fancy — the gait of 
the bird was heavy and awkward, and its voice seemed ratlier 
to scare than attract. — 71 Moore. 

One of the first of EngHshmen, and, in the energy and capacity 
of Ins mind, one of the greatest of lunnan beings. — Crabbc. 

AMien posterity read the speeches of Burke they will hardly 
be able to beHeve tliat during his lifetime he was not con- 
sidered as a first-rate speaker; not even as a second-rate one. — 
Sheridan. 

liurke ahvays disappointed me as a speaker. I have heard 
him, during liis speeches in the House, make use of the most 
vulgar expressions, such as three nips of a straw," "three 
skips of a louse," &c. ; and on one occasion when I was pre- 
sent he introduced an indeHcate story of a French king who 
asked a pliysician why liis natural children were so much fmer 
than his legitimate. — Malby. 

Lurke became at last such an enthusiastic admirer of kingly 
l)Ower, that he could not have slept comfortably on his pillow, 
if he had not thought that the king had a right to carry it from 
under his head. — Grattiin.^ 

How much soever men may differ as to the soundness of 
Mr. lJurke's doctrine, or the jnirity of his public conduct, there 
can be no hesitation in according to him a station among the 
most extraordinary men that have ever appeared ; and we 
think there is now but litde diversity of opinion as to the kind 
of place which it is fit to assign him. He was a writer of the 
first class, and excelled in almost every kind of prose composi- 
tion. Possessed of much extensive knowledge, and of the 
most various description ; acquainted alike with what different 
classes of men knew, each in his own province, and with much 
that hardly any one ever thought of learning ; he could either 
bring his masses of information to bear directly upon the 
subjects to which they severally belonged — or he could avail 
himself of them generally to strengthen his faculties and en- 
large his views — or he could turn any portion of them to 
account, for the purpose of illustrating his theme or enriching 
his diction. Hence, when he is handling any one matter, we 



^ It has been said that Irishmen find it harder to speak well of one 
another than to speak the truth. Even when they find nothing to censure, 
they praise so faintly that it is worse perhaps than downright damning. Of 
Burke, the greatest of Irishmen, it will be found that the fev.- who speak in 
dispraise are Iri<h. — Ed. 



Edmtmd Burke, 



287 



perceive that we are conversing with a reasoner or a teacher, 
to whom almost every other branch of knowledge is familiar. 
His views range over all the cognate subjects ; his reasonings 
are derived from principles applicable to other theories, as 
well as the one in hand ; argmiients pour in on all sides, as 
well as those which start up under our feet, the natural growth 
of the path he is leading us over ; w^hile to throw light around 
our steps and either explore its darker places, or serve for our 
recreation, illustrations are fetched from a thousand quarters. 
.... We are in respect of the argument, reminded of Bacon's 
multifarious knowledge and the exuberance of his learned fancy, 
while the many-lettered diction recalls to mind the first of 
English poets, and his immortal verse, rich with the spoils of 
all sciences and all times. — Lord Brotigham^ 1827. 

The mind of Mr. Burke was not a generalizing mind. It 
rested upon individual cases, had little native propensity to 
ascend any higher, and seldom did so unless when impelled by 
unusual circumstances.^— Bentham, 

I dined with your secretary yesterday. There was Garrick 
and a young Mr. Burke, who wrote a book in the style of Lord 
Bolingbroke that was much admired. He is a sensible man, 
but has not worn off his authorism yet, and thinks there is 
nothing so charming as writers and to be one. He will know 
better one of these days. — Walpole, 

Mr. Burke is tall, his figure is noble, his air commanding, 
his address graceful ; his voice is clear, penetrating, sonorous, 
and powerful; his language copious, various, and eloquent. 
His manners are attractive, his conversation is delightful. Since 
we lost Garrick I have seen nobody so enchanting, I can give 
you, however, very little of what was said, for the conversation 
was not suivie^ Mr. Burke darting from subject to subject with 
as much rapidity as entertainment. Neither is the charm of 
his discourse more in the matter than the manner ; all therefore 
that is related from him loses half its effect in not being related 
by \{\m,—Miss Biirney. 

Burke's writings are such as may be expected from a man 
long habituated to extemporary harangues in a popular as- 
sembly, and perhaps for that reason afford a presumption that 
they are properly written to answer his end ; as to the multi- 



1 Gibbon exactly kits Burke's defect when he speaks of him as ^'that 
diffusive and ingenious orator. "-—Ed. 



288 



Edviujid Biirhc — Jolin Scott, 



tude of words, Cicero, on the like occasion, would have used 
as many, only he would have put them together in a better 
niethod and in a purer style. — BisJwp Hurd. 

Burke, in passing through Liclifield, had gone with a friend 
to look at the cathedral while his horses were changing. One 
of the clergy, seeing two gentlemen somewhat at a loss in this 
vast building, politely volunteered as their cicerone. The con- 
versation flowed, and he was speedily struck with surprise at 
the knowledge and brilliancy of one of the strangers. In his 
subseciucnt account of the adventure to some friend, who met 
him hastening along tlie street, I have been conversing" said 
he, for this half-hour with a man of the most extraordinary 
powers of mind and extent of information which it has ever 
been my fortune to meet, and I am now going to the inn to 
ascertain, if possible, who the stranger is." That stranger had 
completely overlaid the cicerone, even in his local knowledge. 
On every tojjic which came before them, whether the archi- 
tecture, history, remains, income, learning of the ancient orna- 
ments of the chapter, persecutions, lives, and achievements, the 
stranger was boundless in anecdote and illustration. The 
clergyman's surprise was fully accounted for by being told at 
the inn that this singular companion was Mr. Burke. — Black- 
woods MiJi;azi/it^ 1S33. 

John Scott. 

Mr. Scott of Amwell's Elegies " were lying in the room. 
Dr. Johnson observed, ''They are very well; but such as 
twenty people might wite."^ Upon this I took occasion to 
controvert Horace's maxim : 

Mediocribus esse poetis 

Xon Di, non homines, non concessere columnae ; 



^ Dr. Johnson, however, thought well enough of Scott to meditate 
writing his life. He wrote to Barclay : "As I have made some advances 
towards recoveiy, and loved Scott, I am willing to do justice to hismemor}'. 
You will be pleased to get what account you can of his life, with dates, 
where they can be had ; and when I return we will contrive how our 
materials can be best employed." His death frustrated his intention. — 
Ed. 



John Scott — William Falconer, 



for here (I observed) was a very middle-rate poet who pleased 
many readers, and therefore poetry of a middle sort was en- 
titled to some esteem I declared myself not satisfied. 

Why, then, sir," said he, *^you and Horace must settle it." — 
BoswelL 

I In his person he was tall and slender, but his limbs were 
remarkably strong and muscular; he was very active, and 
delighted much in walking ; his countenance was cheerful 
and animated. The active member of society, the public- 
spirited man, and contemplative student were all united in 
Scott. He was not only a lover and cultivator of polite litera- 
ture ; but though not used to any profession, was no idle 
member of the community. — Hoole, 

His compositions are characterized by elegance, simplicity, 
and harmony, more than by invention or sublimity, neither of 
which is wanting. They breathe a spirit of tenderness and 
philanthropy, and display an amiable and virtuous mind. In 
natural enthusiasm and fire they are by no means deficient. — 
Dr, Anderson, 

William Falconer. 

1730-1769, 

Many of his descriptions are not inferior to the -^neid/* 
many passages in the third and fifth books of which our author 
has had in view \ they have not suffered by his imitation ; and 
his pilot appears to much greater advantage than the Palinurus* 
of Virgil. — Monthly Review. 

In his person he was about five feet seven inches in height ; 
of a thin light make, with a dark weather-beaten complexion, 
and rather what is termed hard-featured, being considerably 
marked with the small-pox ; his hair was of a brownish hue. 
In point of address his manner was blunt, awkward, and for- 
bidding ; but he spoke with great fluency ; and his simple yet 
impressive diction was couched in words which reminded his 
hearers of the terseness of Swift. Though Falconer possessed 
a warm and friendly disposition, he was fond of controversy 

and inclined to satire He often assured Governor 

Hunter that his education had been confined merely to reading 
EngHsh, writing, and a little arithmetic. - — James Stanier 
Clarke, 



290 William Falconer — William Coivper. 



Farewell, poor Falconer ! when the dark sea 
Bursts like despair, I shall remember thee ; 
Nor ever from the sounding beach depart 
Without thy music stealing on my heart. 
And thinking still I hear dread Ocean say, 
Thou hast declared my might, be thou my prey ! 

W. L. Botules, 

With the single exception of Falconer's Shipwreck," it 
would be in vain to look for any rhymed poem of that age 
and of equal extent which is held in equal estimation with 
the works of Young, Thomson, Glover, Somervillc, Dyer, 
Akenside, and Armstrong. — Sout/icy. 

Falconer's Shipwreck" is a most ingenious performance — 
and affecting, not only in itself, there being in it not a few pas- 
sages of the simplest human pathetic, but for the sake of the 
seaman who composed it on many a midnight watch, and 
perished in the Apollo frigate when she went down with all her 
crew "far, far at sea." Yet 'tis little read, I suspect ; and has 
inspired no kindred but superior strain through more than half 
a century. — Professor IVilson^ " Nocfes Ambrosiancel' 

William Cowper. 
1 731-1800. 

That maniacal Calvinist and coddled poet. — Byron, 
" The Task," incomparably the best poem that any English- 
men then living had produced — a poem, too, which could 
hardly fail to excite in a well-constituted mind a feeling of 
esteem and compassion for the poet, a man of genius and 
virtue, w^hose means were scanty, and whom the most cruel of 
the calamities incident to humanity had made incapable of 
supporting himself by vigorous and sustained exertion. — 
Macaulay. 

If there is a good man on earth, it is AVilliam Cowper. — 
Lord TJmrloiu. 

The poet of the Cross. — Dr. Memes, 

But tho' in darkness he remained 

Unconscious of the guiding. 
And things provided came without 

The sweet sense of providing. 



William Cowper. ^gi 

He testified this solemn truth 

Through frenzy desolated, — 
Nor man nor nature satisfy 
Whom only God created.—^. B. Browning. 
Mr. Cowper, a man of real genius, has miserably failed in his 
blank-verse translation (of YiorixQx).~Boswell. 

The translation (of Homer) is the nearest portrait of Homer 
and the more one reads it the better it seems -r. W Croker 

Cowper s comic vein burst out from a ground of ghastly and 
maddenmg bigotry.— C. Oilier. ^ ^ 

With more than painter's fancy, blest with lays 
Holy as samts to heav'n expiring x^x^q.— Matthias. 
I have always considered the letters of Mr. Cowper as th^^ 
finest specimen of the epistolary stile in our lang^agf 
an air of inimitable ease and carelessness they unite a' high 
degree of correctness, such as could result July from he 
clearest intellect, combined with the most finished taste 
In my humble opinion the study of Cowper's prose mkv' on 
his account, be as useful in forming the tafte of youL p5,ple 
as his ^^ottrj. —Robert Hall ^ people 

Whatever faults I may be chargeable with as a poet I cannot 
accuse myself of negligence. I never suffered fline to pass 
JIl I had made It as good as I could ; and though my doctrSs 
may offend this king of critics (Dr Johnson) hrwHI nn? T 
Matter myself, be disgusted with s\ovenIy wiTcy "itherSn 
:he numbers, rhymes, or \^.ngv.^g^.-W. Cowper ^' 

I am enchanted with this poet ; his images are so natural and 
o much his own !_ Such an original and philosophic Eke^ 
-uch genuine Christianity! and such a diVine simplic tv" bnf 
jery rambling, and the order not very lucid. HTsSms to pj 
X^.S:^I^^r-^ — toretrenM; 

e added to the resources of English poetry was drawrSirectli 
Watior^nf °' --.genius,^ th'e storesTht owJ 

We talked much of Cowper. The truth respecting that 



292 



Williavi Cowpcr. 



extraordinary genius is, that he was a lunatic of the melan- 
choly kind, with occasional lucid interv'als. Johnny^ said that 
Cowper firmly believed that good and evil spirits haunted his 
couch every night, and that the influence of the last generally 
prevailed. For the last five years of his hfe a perpetual gloom 
hung over him — he was never observed to smile. I asked 
Johnny whether he suspected the people about him of bad in- 
tentions (which seems to me the Shibboleth of insanity), and 
he said that he very often did. " For instance," observed he, 
" he said there were two Johnnies ; one the real man, the other 
an evil spirit in his shape ; and when he came out of his room 
in the morning, he used to look me full in the face inquiringly, 
and turn off with a look of benevolence or anguish, as he 
thought me a man or a devil !" He had dreadful stomach 
complaints, and drank immense quantities of tea. He was 
indulged in everything, even in his wildest imaginations. It 
would have been better had he been regulated in all respects. 
— Dr. Curric io 1J \ Roscoc. 

Cowper is certainly the sweetest of our didactic poets. He 
is elevated in his ''Table Talk;" acute in detailing the ^'Pro- 
gress of En-or ;" and he chants the praises of Truth" in more 
dulcet notes than were ever sounded by the fairest swan in 
Cayster. His '* Expostulation" is made in the tones of a benevo- 
lent sage. His "Hope" and his Charity" are proofs of his 
pure Christian-like feeling, — a feeling which also pervades his 
" Conversation" and his Retirement," and which barbs the 
shafts of his satire without taking away from their strength. — 
Dr. Doran, ''Habits and Men:' 

Cowper may be fancifully looked on as a morning star which 
heralded another sunrise, in the dim evening of which new day 
we now meditate on the past and hope for the future. — Qiiar- 
terly Ercicii^ 1849. 

Had his health of mind and body — frail and awfully uncer- 
tain — suffered him to mingle more with the poor, he had not 
been their greatest poet in power, but their best in spirit. As 
it was, all his tenderest, deepest, holiest sympathies were theirs, i 
— Blackwood's Magazine^ 1834. 



^ The Rev. Dr. Johnson. 



293 



Charles Churchill. 
1731-1764. 

Wilkes's toad-echo. — Hogarth, 

Churchill had strength of thought, had power to paint, 

Nor felt from principles the least restraint. 

From hell itself his characters he drew, 

And christened them by every name he knew. 

W, Whitehead. 

Next Churchill came — his face proclaim'd a heart 
That scorn'd to wear the smooth address of art j 
Strongly mark'd out that firm unconquer'd soul 
Which nought on earth could bias or control. — Shaw, 

Of Churchill we may say without hesitation that he was a 
man of genius, and of a temper firm and undaunted ; often led 
away by pleasure, but at times strenuously active. His thoughts 
issued from him with ease, rapidity, and vigour. In three or 
four years he wrote above a dozen large poems, amidst all the 
dissipations of a gay, unthinking life. — T. Davies. 

He talked very contemptuously of Churchill's poetry, ob- 
serving. That it had a temporary currency, only from its 
audacity of abuse, and being filled with living names, and that 
it would sink into oblivion." I ventured to hint that he was 
not quite a fair judge, as Churchill had attacked him violently. 
Johnson: ^'Nay, sir, I am a very fair judge. He did not 

^attack me violently till he found I did not like his poetry ; 
and his attack on me shall not prevent me from continuing to 
say what I think of him, from an apprehension that it may be 
ascribed to resentment. No, sir, I called the fellow a block- 

- head at first, and I will call him a blockhead still. However, 
I will acknowledge that I have a better opinion of him now 
than I once had ; for he has shown more fertility than I ex- 
pected. To be sure he is a tree that cannot produce good 
fruit j he only bears crabs. But, sir, a tree that produces a 
great many crabs is better than a tree which produces only a 
few." — Boswell. 

No more he'll sit in foremost row before the astonished pit ; 
in brawn Oldmixon's rival as in wit ; and grin dislike, and kiss 
the spike ; and giggle and wriggle ; and fiddle and diddle \ and 
fiddle-fuddle, and diddle-daddle. — Arthur Micrphy. 



294 Charles Cluircliill — Richard CiiDibcrland. 



He was able to do much because he was thorough master of 
Avhat he had to do. He understood his own powers too com- 
pletely to lay any false strain upon them. The ease with which 
he composed is often mentioned by him, thougli with a differ- 
ence. To his Friend he said that nothing came out till he began 
to be pleased with it himsch' ; to the TubHc he boasted of the 
haste and carelessness with which lie set down and discharged 
his rapid thoughts. Something between the two would pro- 
bably come nearest the truth. No writer is at all times free from 
what Ben Jonson calls " pinching throes and Churchill often 
confesses them. It may have been with a bitter sense of their 
intensity that he used the energetic phrase, afterwards remem- 
bered by his publisher — blotting was like cutting away one's 
llesh." — Iu/inhn'i;/i J^n iru', 1845. 

AN'ith the excei)tion of some good lines, such as — 

Hell in his heart and Tyburn in his face," 

Churchill's poetry is to my thinking but mediocre ; and forsudi 
jjoetry I have little toleration. — Samuel Roi^crs, 

Churchill, the great Churchill, for he well deserved llu: 
name. — Coicpcr, 

I thank you for the Candidate," which is, in my opinion, 
the severest and the best of Churchill's works. He has a great 
genius and is an excellent poet. — Lord Bath to Colmati. 

Such talents with prudence had commanded the nation. — 
David Gar rick. 

Churchill the poet is dead. The meteor blazed scarce four 
years. He is dead to the great joy of the Ministry and the 
Scotch, and to the grief of very few indeed, I believe ; for such 
a friend is not only a dangerous but a ticklish possession, — 
//. Walpolc. 

Richard Cumberland. 
1732-1811. 

]slr. Cumberland is unquestionably a man of very great 
abilities ; it is his misfortune to rate them greatly above their 

value ; and to suppose that he has no equal Good 

Christians are not perhaps acquainted with the obligations they 
owe :Mr. Cumberland. By the power of his eloquence, and 
the strength of his arguments, he almost converted, some time 



Richard Cumberland. 



295 



before his death, that wicked imbeUever, Samuel Foote, to 
Christianity j he assured his friends that if he had Hved a Uttle 
longer he did not doubt but he should have completed his 
v/ork and made a good man of Thomas Davies, 

Here Cumberland hes, having acted his parts ; 

The Terence of England, the mender of hearts ; 

A flattering painter, who made it his care 

To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are. 

His gallants are all faultless, his women divine, 

And Comedy wonders at being so fine ; 

Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out, 

Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout. 

His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd 

Of virtues and feelings, that Folly grows proud ; 

And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone. 

Adopting his portraits, are proud of their own. — Goldsviith, 

Mr. Cumberland assures me that he was always treated with 
great courtesy by Dr. Johnson, who in his letters to Mrs. Thraie, 
thus speaks of that learned, ingenious, and accompHshed 
gentleman : " The want of company is an inconvenience, but 
Mr. Cumberland is a million." — Boswell. 

Cumberland was a most agreeable companion and a very 
entertaining converser. His theatrical anecdotes were related 
with infinite spirit and humour; his description of Mrs, 
Siddons coming off the stage in the full flush of triumph, and 
walking up to the mirror in the green-room to survey herself, 
was admirable. He said that the three finest pieces of acting 
which he had ever witnessed were, Garrick's Lear, Henderson's 
Falstaff, and Cooke's lago. When Cumberland was com- 
posing any work, he never shut himself up in his study ; he 
always wrote in the room where his family sat, and did not 
feel the least disturbed by the noise of his children at play 
beside him. — Rogers, 

He had a vast memory and a great facility of feeble verbiage ; 
but his vanity, his self-conceit, and his supercihous airs, offended 
everybody. He was a tall, handsome man, with a fair, regular- 
featured face, and the appearance of good birth. For many 
years he resided at Tunbridge Wells, where he afifected a sort 
of dominion over the Pantiles, and paid court, a little too 
servile, to rank and title. He wrote some good comedies, and 
was a miscellaneous miter of some popularity j but in every 



296 Richard Cinnhcrlaud — Di\ Priestley. || 

department he was of a secondary class — in none had he 
originaHty. He was one of Johnson's Literary Club, and 
therefore could render himself amusing by speaking of a past 
age of authors and of eminent men. He was a most fulsome 
and incontinent llattercr of those who courted him. — Sir 
Egcrion Bryd^es. 

Ur. Priestley. ; 

Give me leave to convey to your ear the almost unanimous 
and not offensive wish of the philosophic world : — that you 
would confine your talents and industry to those sciences in 
which real and useful improvements can be made. Remember 
the end of your predecessor Servetus, not of his life (the Calvins I 
of our days are restrained from the use of the same fiery argu- 
ments), but I mean, the end of his reputation. His theological 
writings are lost in oblivion ; and if his book on the Trinity be 
still preserved, it is only because it contains the first nidiments 
of the discovery of the circulation of the blood. — Gibbon. 

Of Dr. Priestley's theological works, he said that they tended 
to unsettle everything, and yet settled x\o\\-\\\\g.—yohnson. 1 

I was intimately accjuainted with Dr. Priestley, and a more \ 
amiable man never lived ; he was all gentleness, kindness, and • 
humility. He was once dining with me when some one asked 
him (rather rudely) how many books he had published ?" He ' 
replied, Many more, sir, than I should like to read. — Sanuui 
Rogers. 

T.o ! Priestley there, patriot, and saint, and sage, 

Him, full of years, from his loved native land 

Statesmen bloodstained, and priests idolatrous, ^ 

By dark lies maddening the blind multitude. 

Drove with vain hate. Calm, pitying, he retired. 

And mused expectant on these promised years. 

Coleridge, 

The various disco\ eries and researches of Dr. Priestley form 
a storehouse of facts which contemporary chemists of great 
eminence, such as Kinvin and Watt, were accustomed to refer 
to as a common stock from whence to deduce the bases of 
their theories and reasonings. — Quarterly Ranrd^ 1846. 

The fame and the science of Priestley procured from the 



Dr, Priestley — William Julius Mickle, 297 

Christian world a forbearance and complaisance to which he 
was ill entitled. — Robert HalL 

Priestley's nonsense is not to be wondered at ; but his im- 
pertinence in sending it to me, and calling upon me to read it, 
shews him to be out of his head. I suppose he was fool 
enough to think I would dispute with him, as poor Bryant did ; 
but in this he will be mistaken. — Bishop Hard, 

It is true as you say, I have not been curious enough to read 
Priestley ; and I do not so much as know the title of his book. 
All I do know is, that he is a wretched coxcomb, and of a viru- 
lent spirit. — Ibid. 

A man frenzied for novelty, ambitious of a name, precipitate 
in the publication of every change of a capricious mind, and 
utterly careless of the mischief effected by his unprincipled 
notoriety. As a scholar shallow, as a philosopher empirical, 
as a politician malecontent, and as a religionist heretical — he 
has long since sunk into the contempt which every man of 
sense feels for pretensions without solidity, and the desire of 
public mischief defeated only by giddy impotence of mind. But 
he was fitted for the time. His affectation of universal know- 
ledge, his restless versatility of pursuits, his rash eagerness to 
be always foremost in the public eye, and his notorious heresy 
made him invaluable to the half-philosophical, half-poHtical, and 
more than half irreligious conspiracy, which followed with willing 
hearts, but still with tottering and unpractised steps, the strides 
of the gigantic treasons of France. Priestley's whole religious 
life was change, and change of the most total, irreconcilable, 
and irrational abruptness. — Blackivood's Magazine^ 

William Julius Mickle. 
1734-1788. 

It is impossible for me not to approve of the verses of the 
translator of the " Lusiad," which, without flattery, in my poor 
opinion, are equal, if not superior, to Pope's translation of the 
''lX\^^r—Lord Rod7iey, 

He was in every point of view a man of the utmost integrity, 
warm in his friendship, and indignant only against vice, irre- 
ligion, or meanness. The compliment paid by Lord Lyttleton 
to Thomson might be applied to him with the strictest truth : 



298 Williavi Julius Jllicklc — Isaac Bickcrstajf. 



not a line is to be found in his works which, dying, he could 
wish to blot. — European Magazine. 

The character of Mickle as a poet' ranks very high among 
his countrymen. His versification is undoubtedly very vigorous 
and manly ; but certainly not equally remarkakle for correct- 
ness. It unites the freedom of Dryden with the force and 
harmony of Pope. — Br. Anderson. 

His translation of the *'Lusiad"is still in some repute ; and 
his ballad of" Cumnor Hall" suggested " Kenilworth" to Scott ; 
but his other works are almost all forgotten. — Croker. 

Crowe knew Mickle, who was a compositor for the press ; 
thinks a poem of Mickle's called Sir Martin," equal to Beattie's 

Minstrel."— 7: Moore. 

Poor Mickle, to whom we are indebted for so beautiful a 
version of Camoens' Lusiad," having dedicated this work, the 
continued labour of five years, to a certain lord, had the mortifi- 
( ation to find, by the discovery of a friend, that he had kept it 
in his possession three weeks before he could collect sufficient 
intellectual desire to cut open the first pages. — /. D Israeli. 
He (C. J. Fox) had never been able to read Mickle's 
Lusiad " through. He once met Mickle, and took a dislike 
t C) him. — Sa m uel R( l^'^^'s. 

Isaac Bickerstaff. 

1735-17S7. 

Then Bickerstaff advanc'd. 
His sing-song Muse by vast success enhanc'd ; 
Who, when fair Wright, destroying reason's fence. 
Inveigles our applause in spite of sense ; 
With syren voice our juster rage confounds. 
And clothes sweet nonsense in delusive sounds, 
Pertly commends the judgment of the town. 
And arrogates the merit as his own ; 
Talks of his taste ! how well each air was hit ! 
AVhile printers and their devils praise his wit. — S/ia7<'. 

Isaac Bickerstaff, a native of Ireland, the author of Love in 
a Village," '* Lionel and Clarissa," the " Spoiled Child," and 
several other theatrical pieces of great merit and continued 
popularity. This unhappy man was obliged to fly the country 



Isaac Bickerstajf~Dr, Beattie, 



299 



on suspicion of a capital crime, on which occasion Mrs. Piozzi 
relates that when Mr. Bickerstaff's flight confirmed the report 
of his guilt, and Mr. Thrale said, in answer to Johnson's 
astonishment, that he had long been a suspected man, ^ By 
those who look close to the ground dirt will be seen, sir,' was 
the lofty reply; ^ I hope I see things from a greater distance,' " 
—J, W. Croker, 

Dr. Beattie, 

A poet, a philosopher, and a good m2C£i~Gray , 
We all love Beattie. — yohnson. 

In him, at least, I shall find a man whose faculties have now 
and then a glimpse from Heaven upon them ; a man not in- 
deed in possession of much evangelical light, but faithful to 
what he has, and never neglecting an opportunity to use it. 
How much more respectable such a character than that of 
thousands, who would call him blind, and yet have not the 
grace to practise half his virtues ! He, too, is a poet, and 
wrote the Minstrel." The specimens which I have seen of 
it pleased me much. — William Cowper, 

I remember taking Beattie's "Minstrel" down from my 
father's shelves, on a fine summer evening, and reading it for 
the first time with such delight ! It still charms me (I mean 
the first book j the second book is far inferior). — Rogers. 

The existence of Dr. Beattie and his book, together, will be 
forgotten in the space of ten years. ^ — Goldsmith. 

An excellent and amiable man ; for such he was, whatever 
we may think of him as a writer. Scepticism was at this 
time fashionable among the wits and men of letters. It was 
thought a great thing that such a man as Beattie, not a clergy- 
man, should have taken up the pen against Hume and Voltaire. 
The essay had won him popular fame, royal fame and a pen- 
sion. The Edinburgh Town Council had wooed him to the 



^ The book referred to by Goldsmith was the ''Essay on Truth." The 

name of Dr. Beattie, however, is not forgotten, nor is it likely to be. His 

'' Minstrel" is one of the most beautiful j^oems that age produced. No 
lines have ever been more repeatedly quoted than the opening : — 

' ' Ah, who can tell how hard it is to climb 
The steep where fame's proud temple shines afar !" — Ed, 



300 



Dr. Beat tic — JoJin Langliornc, 



chair of moral philosophy ; the Archbishop of York had 
solicited him to enter the Church of England. — Lcsliis ''Life 
of Reynolds r 

I was acquainted with the LUe Dr. ]]eattie, of Aberdeen. 
He wrote English better than any other of his countrymen, 
and had formed his style and manner of composition on our 
Addison ; but what he admired in him was his tuneful i)rose 
and elegant expression ; he had no notion of that writer's 
original and inimitable humour. — BisJiop Hurd, 

John LaiiLiliornc. 

Triumi^hant dunce, illustrious Eanghorne rise, 
And while whole worlds detest thee and desi)ise, 
A\'ilh rage unc^onnnon, cruelly deny 
'I'hy hapless muse Cvcn i»rivilege to die. — Kelly, 

Eong as the roc k shall rear its head on high 
And lift its bold front to the azure sky : 
Eong as these adamantine hills survive, 

So long, haruK '!!!')> IS ] .[uv^liMnir. ^Iialt thou li\'e.^ 

lid) mail Afore. 

As a poet his compObiiions arc di.^tinguished by undoubted 
marks of genius, a fine imagination, and a sensible heart. 
Imagery and enthusiasm, the great essentials of poetry, inspirit 
all his works, and place them far above the strains of vulgar 
composition. — Dr. A nderst vi . 



^ There is a story told of Hannah More and Langhome being at Weston- 
super-Mare together for their heahh. They met one day upon the sea- 
sliore, and Langhome wrote the following doggrel with his cane on the 

-.ind : — 

Along the shore 

Walk'd Hannah More ; 
Waves, let this record last ! 

Sooner shall ye, 

Proud earth and sea, 
Than what she writes, be past. 

Under this, Hannah More ^\Tote with her whip: — 

Some firmer basis, polish'd Langhome, choose, 
To write the dictates of thy charming muse. 
Her strains in solid character rehearse, 
And be thy tablet lasting as thy verse. — Ed. 



John Langhorne — JoJm Home Tooke, 301 



Langhorne ! unknown to me (sequestered swain !) 

Save by thy muse's soul-enchanting lay, 

To kindred spirits never sung in vain, 

Accept the tribute of this light essay. 

Sweet are thy songs : they oft amuse my day 

Of fancy's visions while I hear thee 'plain, 

While Scotland's honours claim thy pastoral strain, 

Or music comes o'er Handel tears to pay 

Receive just praise and wreaths that ne'er decay, 
By fame and virtue twined for thee to wear. — -/, Scott. 

He died in the flower of his prime, when the promises of his 
youth were on the verge of their full accomplishment. That 
such a man should take pains to put out the lamp that lights 
up the chamber of speculation and thought within him, is as 
lamentable as it is censurable ; and little more can be said 
for him but that his guilt and folly appear harmless in com- 
parison with the malignity of those of our own day who abuse 
the arts of composition and power of song to spread a moral 
blight around them. — W, Roberts, ''Life of H, More'' 

There is a period in youth when the mere power of numbers 
has a more strong effect on ear and imagination than in after- 
life. At this season of immature taste, the author was greatly 
delighted with the poems of Meikle^ and Langhorne. — Preface 
to KenilworthP 

John Home Tooke. 
1736-1812. 

No man is to be found of more acuteness or of more un- 
daunted resolution. Methinks, if Mr. John Home Tooke 
purposed to drink his glass of ivine, and that the bolts of 
heaven had rent asunder the earth beneath his feet, Mr. J. H. 
Tooke would still drink his glass of wine. — -J. P. Curra7i. 

When Home Tooke was at school, the boys asked him what 
his father was ? Tooke answered, '' a Turkey merchant." (He 
was a poulterer). — Sam. Rogers. 



^ Like IMacklin, the actor, v/ho in the north was McLaughhn, and Mallet, 
the poet, who was Malloch, Meikle, when he left Scotland for London, 
sobered the spelling of his name into Mickle. He is, however, as frequently 
called by his original as by his Anglicised name. — Ed. 



302 



yolui Ilonic Tookw 



I ofien dined with Tooke at Wimbledon, and always found 
him most pleasant and witty. There, his friends would drop 
in upon him without any invitation ; Colonel Bosville would 
come frequently, bringing with him a dinner from London — 
fish, <5cc. Tooke latterly used to expect two or three of his 
most intimate friends to dine with him every Sunday ; and I 
once offended him a good deal by not joining his Sunday 
dinner-parties for several weeks. — Ibid, 

His invectives against his age, liis countr}-, and his literary 
( ontemporaries, are not worthy of a wise or good man ; his 
temper is soured, and his character corrupted by philology 
and disappointed ambition. With an admirable simplicity of 
style, his book shows no simplicity of character; he is full 
of petty tricks to entangle and suri)risc his reader ; he prepares 
for every statement by exciting wonder ; he never makes it 
]»lainly, but always triumi)hs over the blindness of the whole 
lumian race, who left him the discovery. — Sir J, Mackinfos/i, 

Wc see in this man the highest i)rctensions to public prin- 
( il)le covering the poorest individual motives ; the most violent 
])ublic disorders perpetually hazarded to indulge the follies of 
a passion for being always in the public view ; and a long life 
which might have exhibited the merits, and perfonned the 
services of a scholar, a gentleman, and a divine, wasted away 
in low intercourse with the vulgarity of rabble clubs, degraded 
by a fiimiliarity with jails, and stigmatized with charges of 
treason in the realm and to the king. Ikit what were the 
l)ublic results eftected by this weak and culpable expenditure 
of himself for half a century? Nothing. In the whole course of 
his fretful, officious, and hazardous life he gained nothing. The 
purity of Parliament, the integrity of the laws, or the rights of the 
people, if they were questionable, were not to be redeemed or re- 
stored by the restlessness of a giddy pretender, who was seen one 
day trailing at the skirts of power, and on the next nmning at 
the head of faction ; to-day the heavy paneg}Tist of Pitt, to- 
morrow the extravagant partizan of Fox ; beginning his career 
with ribald sycophancy of Wilkes, and then turning his personal 
knowledge of the man into public venom, and loading him with 
all the baseness of a mercenar}-.^ — Blackwood's Magazi?ie, 1833. 



1 Tooke is hardly remembered even as a philologist. The "Diversions 
ofPiirley" maybe pronomiced something more than (or less than) a scarce 
book. — Ed. 



303 



Edward Gibbon. 
1737-1794. 

I am endowed with a cheerful temper, a moderate sensibility, 
and a natm'al disposition to repose rather than to activity ; some 
mischievous habits and appetites have perhaps been corrected 
by philosophy or time. — Gibbon. 

He possesses that industry of research without which no man 
deserves the name of historian. His narrative is perspicuous 
and interesting \ his style is elegant and forcible j though in 
some passages^ I think, rather too laboured, and in others too 
quaint. — Dr. Robertson. 

If you mean to assert that you are a beHever in Christianity 
and meant to recommend it, I must say that your mode of 
writing has been very ill adapted to gain your purpose. If there 
be any certain method of discovering a man's real object yours 
has been to discredit Christianity in fact, while in words you 
represent yourself as a friend to it ; a conduct which I scruple 
not to call highly unworthy and mean ; an insult on the common 
sense of the Christian world. — Dr. Pjdestley to Mr. Gibbon. 

You will, at least," said some one, allow him the hcmieres.^^ 
*'Just enough," replied Dr. Johnson, ^^to light him to hell." — - 
Piozzi. 

Gibbon might have been cut out of a corner of Burke's mind 
without his missing it. — Sir James Mackintosh. 

The learned Gibbon was a curious counterbalance to the 
learned (may I not say less learned ?) Johnson. Their manners 
and tastes, both in writing and conversation, were as different as 
their habiliments. On the first day I sat down with Johnson 
in his rusty brown suit, and his black worsted stockings. Gibbon 
was placed opposite to me in a suit of flowered velvet, with a 
bag and sword. Each had his measured phraseology ; and 
Johnson's famous parallel between Dryden and Pope might be 
loosely parodied in reference to himself and Gibbon : Johnson's 
style was grand and Gibbon's elegant ; the stateliness of the 
former was sometimes pedantic, and the latter was occasionally 
finical. Johnson marched to kettle-drums and trumpets ; Gib- 
bon moved to flutes and hautboys ; Johnson hewed passages 
through the Alps, while Gibbon levelled walks through parks 
and gardens. Mauled as I had been by Johnson, Gibbon 
poured balm upon my bruises by condescending once or twice 



304 



Edward Gibbon. 



in the evening to talk with me. The great historian was light 
and playful, suiting his matter to the capacity of a boy ; but it 
was done more suo — still his mannerism prevailed \ still he 
tapped his snuff-box \ still he smirked and smiled, and rounded 
his periods Avith the same air of good breeding as if he were 
conversing with men. His moutli, mellifluous as Plato's, was 
a round hole in the centre nearly of his visage.^ — Caiman. 

As to Gibbon I have read a part of his third volume. Though 
a \vriter of sense, parts, and industr}^, I read him with little 
])leasure. His loaded and luxuriant style is disgusting to the 
last degree, and his work is polluted everpvhere by the most 
immoral as well as irreligious insinuations. — BisJiop Hin d. 

The luminous page of Gibbon." — S/icridan. 

Those who have enjoyed his society will agree with me that 
his conversation was still more captivating than his writings. 
Perhaps no man ever divided time more fairly between literary 
labour and social enjoATuent ; and hence, probably, he derived 
his peculiar excellence of making his very extensive knowledge 
contribute in the highest degree to the use or pleasure of those 
with whom he conversed. He united in the happiest manner 
imaginable two characters which are not often found in the 
same person, tlie profound scholar and the f^iscinating com- 
l^an ion. ^ — Lo?'d Sheffield. 

I am not afraid' of Gibbon. AMioever has a true taste for 
Cicero's sweetness and Virgil's majesty will not take his modern 



1 Colman thought this description so good that he repeated il in rhyme 

Like a can-ed pumpkin was his classic jole, 
Flesh had the solo of his chin encored ; 
Puffed were his cheeks, his mouth a little hole, 
Just in the centre of his visage bored — Ed. 

2 Sheridan, on being asked how he came to call Gibbon ''luminous," "I 
said T'^^duminous," he answered. 

3 "I waited with much impatience for the 'Life and Miscellaneous 
Works of Gibbon,' and if I have not been quite so much delighted as I 
supposed, I have yet been highly gratified by becoming more intimately 
acquainted with the person and character of a great man, whom before I 
had only admired at an immense distance. Lord Sheffield has not been 
veiy discriminating in the selection of some of the pieces he has given to 
the public, and I wonder that his Lordship should have preferred the 
character of an exact editor to that of a delicate friend. After all, he has 
suppressed, I fear, some valuable details concerning the progress of Gibbon's 
religious opinions, which I think should on no account have been done. " — 
Projessor Playfair, " Miss Berry's Correspondence.'' 



Edward Gibbon — Dr, Wolcot {Peter Pindar). 305 



terseness of expression, or neatness of finish, so completely 
French, for perfection. — -Piozzi. 

Gibbon had a cold and unimpassioned spirit. I never felt 
more inclination to rail at the prejudices which clung to 
such a thing than now that Julie and Clarens, Lausanne 
and the ^\Roman Empire," compel me to a contrast between 
Rousseau and Gibbon. — Shelley. 

Gibbon is a malignant painter, and though he does give the 
likeness of a depraved Christianity, he magnifies deformities, 
and takes a profane delight in making the picture as hideous 
as he can. Indeed, in the last two volumes he has taken some 
pains to hide the cloven foot ; but whenever a Christian emperor 
or bishop of estabHshed reputation is brought forward, his 
encomiums have so much coldness, and his praises so much 
sneer, that you cannot help discovering contempt where he pro- 
fesses panegyric. — H, More. 

Fox used to say that Gibbon's history was immortal, because 
nobody could do without it ; nobody, without vast expense of 
time and labour, could get elsewhere the information which it 
contains. I think, and so Lord Grenville thought, that the 
introductory chapters are the finest part of that history : it was 
certainly more difficult to write them than the rest of the work. 
—Rogers's " Table Talk:' 

He (Person) thought the Decline and Fall" beyond all 
comparison the greatest literary production of the eighteenth 
century, and was in the habit of repeating long passages from 
it. Yet I have heard him say "there could not be a better 
exercise for a schoolboy than to turn a page of it into EngHsh." 
— Porsoniana:' 

Gibbon is an ugly, affected, disgusting fellow, and poisons 
our literary club to me. — BosweWs Diary^'' 1779. 

Dr. Wolcot (Peter Pindar). 
1738-1819. 

As apoliticalsatirist he wasin his day almost without a rival, 
and the popularity of his numerous works would have placed a 
prudent man in lasting affluence. Improvidence, however, 
necessitated him to sell the copyright of his works to Messrs. 
Robinson, Golding, and Walker, for an annuity of 250/., pay- 
able half-yearly, during the remainder of his life. Loose agree- 

X 



3o6 Dr, Wolcot {Peter Pindar) — James Macpherson. 



ments have always been the fashion between author and 
pubhsher, and in the present case it was not clearly stated 
what " cop}Tight of his works" meant. The publisher inter- 
preted it as the copyright of both what the author had A\Titten 
at the time of making the agreement, and also of what he should 
subsequently wite. Wolcot, however, declared that he had in 
the transaction only had regard to his prior productions. After 
some litigation and more squabbling, the publishers consented 
to take Wolcot's view of the case ; but he never forgave them 
the discomfort they had caused him. — Jcaffrcson, 

Dr. Wolcot (Peter Pindar) died in 1819 : Campbell being 
aware that I had known the satirist, begged me to put together 
a memoir of the Doctor, as he intended to place him in the 
next edition of the " Specimens," Wolcot being in his opinion 
one of the most original poets England had ever produced, and 
one having the most perfect knowledge of human nature. — 
Reddvig's Life of Thomas Campbell^ 

I am not sure that I do not prefer Wolcot (Peter Pindar) to 
Churchill. Wolcot's ^' Gipsy" is very neat. — Sam. Rogers, 

Dr. Wolcot, a loose, jovial, quick-witted clergyman, without 

a cure, and physician without patients Wolcot had tried his 

hand at rhymed lampooning as early as 1778 in his " Episde to 
the Reviewers," a fair skit on literary puffery, and the popularity 
of such poetasters as Hannah More. But he now (1782) came 
out with the first of that series of audacious rhymes which made 
his name notorious, and filled his pockets for the rest of the 

reign of George III Wolcot had sound judgment both in 

music and painting. — C. R. Leslie. 

When the Duke of of Kent was last in America, he took a 
stroll into the countr)^ and entering a neat Utde cottage, saw a 
pretty girl with a book in her hand. " What books do you 
read ?" asked his royal highness. The girl with the most artless 
innocence, replied,' Sir, the Bible and Peter Pindar."—" Percy 
Anecdotes.'^ 

James Macpherson. 
1738-1796. 

All hail, Macpherson ! hail to thee, sire of Ossian ! the 
Phantom was begotten by the snug embrace of an impudent 
Highlander upon a cloud of tradition— it travelled southward, 



James Macpherson, 



where it was greeted with acclamation, and the thin consistence 
took its course through Europe upon the breath of popular 

applause As the translators of the Bible, and Shakspeare^ 

and Milton, and Pope could not be indebted to Macpherson, it 
follows that he must have owed his fine feathers to them.— 
Wordsworth, 

I have scarce ever known a man more perverse and unami- 
able. — Hiune, 

Elegant, however, and masterly as Mr. Macpherson's trans- 
lation is, we must never forget whilst v/e read it that we are 
putting the merit of the original to a severe test. For we are 
examining a poet stripped of his native dress, divested of the 
harmony of his own numbers. .... If, then, destitute of this 
advantage, exhibited in a literal version, Ossian still has pov/er 
to please as a poet ; and not to please only, but often to com- 
mand, to transport, to melt the heart, we may very safely infer 
that his productions are the offspring of a true and uncommon 
genius, and we may boldly assign him a place among those 
whose works are to last for ages. — Blair, 

Mr. James Macpherson. — I received your fooHsh and im- 
pudent letter. Any violence offered to me I shall do my best 
to repel, and what I cannot do for myself the law shall do for 
me. I hope I shall never be deterred from detecting what I 
think a cheat, by the menaces of a ruffian. What would you 
have me retract ? I thought your book an imposture ; I think 
it an imiposture still. For this opinion I have given my reasons 
to the public, which I here dare you to refute. Your rage I 
defy. Your abihties, since your "Homer," are not so for- 
midable; and what I hear of your morals inclines me to pay 
regard not to what you shall say, but to what you shall prove. 
You may print this if you will — Sam. Johzson. 

I read "Ossian" when I was a boy, and was enamoured with 
it. When at college I again read " Ossian," with increased 
delight. I now, although convinced of the imposture, find 
pleasure in reading Macpherson. — Dr. Parr. 

I never had a doubt concerning the spuriousness of the 
" Poems of Ossian." It was impossible the originals should 
exist. What chiefly gives them an antique air is their penury 
of idea, a circumstance that does more honour to the inventor's 
judgment than to his imagination. After all, I have a regard 
for Macpherson, who has certainly some talents and is a well- 
behaved man.—/. Langhorne. 

X 2 



3oS Javics MacpJicrson—IIiigJi Kelly. 

Macpherson, in his way, was certainly a man of high talents, 
and his poetic powers as honourable to his country as the use 
which he made of them, and I fear his i)ersonal character, in 
Other respects, was a discredit to it. — Sir IV, Scott, 

Hugh Kdly. 
1739-1777. 

Circumstances made it a kind of fashion to depreciate Kelly 
while alive, for no reason that can be discovered excepting the 
original sins of poverty and the calling to which he had been 
brought uj)/ the latter furnishing a hantlle for the wit of such as 
assailed him. The learned treated him lightly from the limited 
nature of his accjuirements, though this defect he remedied in 
part by sedulous study ; men of the first genius denied his 
claims to ecjuality ; inferior writers questioned his superiority, 
and could at least abuse what they failed to equal, for with 
this class the supposed use of his power as editor of periodical 
works kept him in continual conflict. His ])olitical writings 
were shrewd and sensible .... his life was laborious, and his 
morals, it is said, blameless. — James Prior. 

Kelly's fust introduction to Johnson was not likely to have 
pleased a person of predominant vanity." After having sat 
a short time, he got up to take his leave, saying that he feared 
a longer visit might be troublesome. Not in the least, sir," 
Johnson is said to have replied, I had forgotten that you were 
in the room." — Crokcr. 

It may be justly said of Kelly that no man ever profited more 
by a sudden change of fortune in his favour ; prosperity caused 
an immediate and remarkable alteration in his conduct ; from a 
low, petulant, absurd, and ill-bred censurer,he was transformed to 
the humane, affable, well-bred, good-natured man. His conver- 
sation in general was lively and agreeable, he had an uncommon 
stock of ready language, and though not deeply read, yet what he 
said was generally worthy of attention. He sometimes, indeed, 
from an attempt to assume uncommon politeness, and a super- 
abundance of benevolence, became rather tiresome and luscious 
in his compliments. — T. Davies, 



He was apprenticed to a staymaker. — Ed, 



3^9 



Mrs. Thrale (Madame Piozzi). 
1739-1821. 

One of those clever, kind-hearted, engagmg, vain, pert young 
women who are perpetually saying or doing something that is 
not exactly right, but who, do or say what they may, are always 
J agreeable. — Macaiday, 

j For that Piozzi's wife, Sir John, exhort her 

To draw her immortahty from porter; 
Give up her anecdotical inditing^ 
And study housewifery, instead of writing.— Wolcot. 

Mrs. Thrale always appeared to me to possess at least as much 
I information, a mind as cultivated, and more brilliancy of in- 
tellect than Mrs. Montagu, but she did not descend among 
men from such an eminence, and she talked much more, as 
well as more unguardedly, on every subject. She was the pro- 
vider and conductor of Johnson, who lived almost constantly 
under her roof, or more properly, under that of Mr. Thrale, 
both in town and at Streatham. He did not, however, spare 
her more than other women in his attacks if she courted and 
provoked his animadversions. — WraxalL 

On the praises of Mrs. Thrale, Johnson used to dwell with 
a peculiar delight, a paternal fondness, expressive of con- 
scious exultation in being so intimately acquainted with her. 
One day, in speaking of her to Mr. Hams, author of Hermes," 
I and expatiating on her various perfections — the solidity of her 
i virtues, the brilliancy of her wit, and the strength of her un- 
( derstanding, &c. — he quoted some lines (a stanza, I believe, 
^ but from what author I know not), with which he concluded 
his most eloquent eulogium, and of these I retained but the 
. two last lines : — 

Virtues— of such a generous kind. 

Good in the last recesses of the mind. — Miss Reynolds, 

Her conversation is that bright wine of the intellects which 
has no lees. Dr. Johnson told me truth when he said she had 
more colloquial wit than most of our hterary women ; it is in- 
deed a fountain of perpetual flow. — Miss Seward. 



m 



310 Mrs, I'kralc {^Madame Piozzi) — James BoswelL 



See Thrale's gay widow with a satchel roam, 

And bring in pomp laborious nothings home.* — Gifford. 

She was in truth a most wonderful character for talents and 
eccentricity, for wit, genius, generosity, spirit, and powers of 
entertainment. — Madame UArblay, 

Breakfasted with the Fitzgeralds. Took me to call on Mrs. 
Piozzi — a wonderful old lady : faces of other times seemed to 
crowd over her as she sat — the Johnsons, Reynolds's, &c. 
Though turned eighty, she has all the quickness and intelHgencc 
of a gay young woman. — T. Moore. 

Her mind, despite her masculine acquirements, was tho- 
roughly feminine ; she had more tact than genius, more sensi- 
bihty and quickness of perception than depth, comprehensive- 
ness, or continuity of thought. But her very discursiveness 
prevented her from becoming wearisome ; her varied knowledge 
supplied an inexhaustible store of topics and ilhistrations ; her 
lively fancy placed them in attractive lights, and her mind has 
been well likened to a kaleidoscope. — A. Haynkird. 

I was afterwards very intimate with the Piozzis, and visited 
them often at Streatham. The world was most unjust in blaming 
^Irs. Thrale for marrying Piozzi ; he was a very handsome, 
gentlemanly, and amiable person, and made her a very good 
husband. In the evening he used to play to us most beauti- 
fully on the piano. Her daughter never would see her after 
that marriage ; and (poor woman) when she was a very great 
age I have heard her say that " she would go down upon her 
knees to them if they would only be reconciled to her." — Rogers, 

James BoswelL 
1740-1795, 

His imagination being lively, he often said things of which 
the eftect was very ditierent from the intention. — Bosivell^ on 
Himself, 



^ Referring to lier Travels," By the excessive vulgarisms so plentiful in 
these volumes," wrote Horace Walpole, one might suppose the writer had 
never stirred out of the parish of St. Giles." Miss Seward, on the other 
hand, says, " No work of the sort I ever read possesses in an equal degree 
the power of placing the reader in the scenes and among the people it 
describes. ^Vlt, knowledge, and miagination illuminate its pages." — Ed. 



Raines Boswell, 



311 



Corsican Boswell, a very agreeable, good-natured man \ he 
perfectly adores Johnson. — Harmah More, 

Boswell m the year 1745 was a fine boy, wore a v/nite 
cockade and prayed for King James, till one of his uncles gave 
him a shilling, on condition that he would pray for King 
George, which he accordingly did. So you see that Whigs of 
all ages are made the same zuay. — Johnso7i, 
. He united lively manners with indefatigable diligence, and 
the volatile curiosity of a man about town with the drudging 
patience of a chronicler. — Croker? 

James Boswell, a young Scotch lawyer, heir to an honourable 
name and a fair estate. That he was a coxcomb and a bore, 
weak, vain, pushing, curious, garrulous, was obvious to all who 
were acquainted with him. That he could not reason, that he 
had no wit, no humour, no eloquence, is apparent from his 
writings. And yet his writings are read beyond the Mississippi 
and under the Southern Cross, and are likely to be read as 
long as the English language exists either as a living or as a 
dead language. Nature had made him a slave and an idolater. 
His mind resembled those creepers which the botanists call 
parasites, and which can subsist only by clinging around the 
stems and imbibing the juices of strong plants. He must have 
fastened himself on somebody. He might have fastened him- 
self on Wilkes, and have become the fiercest patriot in the Bill 
of Rights Society. He might have fastened himself on Whit- 
field, and have become the loudest field preacher among the 
Calvinistic Methodists. In a happy hour he fastened himself 
on Johnson. — Macaulay. 

He talks with so much ease and such grace, 
That all charmed to attention we sit, 
And he sings wdth so comic a face 
That our sides are just ready to split 



^ Miss Grace Wharton is not highly complimentary to Mr. Croker ; she 
calls him "The serpent of critics, and ring-nose of dilettants." Dr. Madden 
follows with an oblique hit : " Vain as Beau Brummel was, he was not 
revengeful, and no provocation could have worked upon him as' a fancied 
provocation did upon 'the Right Hon. John Wilson Croker,' who red- 
taped the open-hearted notes of Moore, and produced them as peta7'ds to 
blow to pieces the poet's reputation when that once gayest of bards lay mute 
and defenceless in his grave. " 



312 



James BosiijcU, 



Boswell is pleasant and gay, 

For frolic by nature designed : 

He heedlessly rattles away, 

When the company is to his mind. — Boswell} 



^ In these verses Boswell proclaims himself a sociable man ; but I think 
there must have been something extremely trying about his sociability. A 
man ^vho humifies himself so low before those whom he accepts as his 
superiors, assuredly exalts himself to a corresponding degree above those whom 
he looks uj^on as his inferiors. I should say that Boswell when sober must have 
been a very difficult man to get on with. The radical meanness of his intellect 
must have rendered his presence equivalent to a sense of humiliation to 
those about him. He had associated long enough with the Doctor to catch 
his note. He assumed the pomposity, the rhythmic declamation, the por- 
tentous sirs I of the surly sage. IJut with all the contortions, he had no 
particle of the inspiration. Imagine this man catching you up after the 
Doctor's fashion, and substituting fur your common sense some decayed 
period recollected from one of Johnson's worst bits of sophistry ! Yet this 
was BoswelTs habit. Do not, pray, judge him by his own book, but by 
what the Piozzis, the Hawkinses, the Wolcots, the Walpoles, have said of 
liim. In his own Ijook he is in the presence of Johnson, and in that pre- 
sence he was slightly different from what he was out of it. It is like looking 
at his picture by Reynolds, and the caricature of him by George Langton. 
In his own volume he sits obsequious, with tablets in hand — a sort of 
literaiy taster, thnistlng his pump into the numberless barrels of rich wines 
that lay stored in Johnson's capacious vault of a mind, that he may catch 
and bottle the choice inspiriting llow. The "Life of Johnson" shows 
only one aspect of Boswell. He is, indeeil, in the attitude for which nature 
designed him, and in the attitude in \\ hich he was exactly likely to portray 
himself — the prostrate. But he will get up presently and walk away, blow n 
out tight and stubborn with what he himself calls the Johnsonian aether." 
He has now reached another company. ^Vhat ! can it be possible that 
this declamatory thing — this ostentatious magpie, showing his own mean 
garb through the badly-disposed fineiy which he has stolen, or the dowdy 
soiled feathers which he has picked up — this chatterling who is interrupting 
the conversation and monopolizing the attention with his clamorous John- 
sonese about the scarcity of coin at Mull, the devotion of the Corsicans 
to Paoli, the superiority of the Scotch kilt over English breeches — and who 
permits of no interruption but that of his own hand when he raises glass 
after glass of port wine to his active lips, and dyes his complexion a deeper 
red with ever}^ libation — can this be the Mr. Boswell who but a short time 
since might have been recommended to low like a cow instead of talking 
like a fool — who might have sat with shuddering pencil and submissive face 
whilst Johnson roared, amidst strange convulsions, how sick he was both of 
Boswell and himself? 

I am prepared to admit that Boswell had imposed upon himself an 
arduous task — the writing of Dr. Johnson's life. That life he had deter- 
mined to write, happen what would. I can comprehend the feelings of a 
man who has laboriously collected a multitude of ana, and to whom more, 
much more, is yet necessaiy. He is not to be diverted from his task for a 
twofold reason ; he is not only most unwilling that all his past labour of 



James BoswelL 



313 



The circle of his acquaintance among the learned, the witty, 
and indeed among all ranks and professions, was extremely 
extensive, as his talents were considerable, and his convivial 
powers made his company much in request.— ^S/r W. Forbes, 

The incarnation of toadyism. — W, Irving. 

This lively and ingenious biographer is now beyond the 
reach of praise or censure. He died at London, May 19, 1795, 
in the 55th year of his age. His death is an irreparable loss to 
EngHsh literature. He had many failings, and many virtues, 
and many amiable qualities which predominated over the 
frailties incident to human nature. — Dr, Anderson. 

There is no denying that Boswell possessed in an extra- 
ordinary degree the art of inducing men of eminence to talk 
freely with him, and even to treat him with confidence and 
consideration. — Gray. 

His " Life of Samuel Johnson" exhibits a striking likeness of 



collection should have been to no purpose, but he is also most unwilling to 
relinquish the execution of a design which, with something of a prophetic 
eye, perhaps, he judged will hand his name down to a remote posterity. But 
what manner of ambition is this which is willing to achieve its end at the 
sacrifice of every feeling that procures respect and esteem ? Reflect, to what 
quality of the human mind Boswell has given his name. Apart from the 
, contempt in which he was held by his contemporaries, consider the opinions 
that have been deliberately written by the most eminent writers since his 
time — opinions so helplessly degrading to his character that even Scotch- 
men have lost heart, decline to support him, and would willingly give him 
to England, or forget him ! Yet this man has not only written a good book, 
he has written the only good biography. In this species of composition I 
will admit, for the sake of Boswell, no degrees of excellence. *' Eclipse is 
first," says Macaulay, "and the rest nowhere." Can you explain how he 
wrote this book ? It exhibits taste ; yet Boswell was without taste. 
It exhibits judgment ; yet Boswell was without judgment. He exhibits 
taste in his design ; he exhibits judgment in his selections. Yet 
even in his book he shows how utterly incapable he is of his book. His 
comments upon the conversations he records might have been dictated by 
Mrs. Williams or Mrs. Desmoulins. When he praises Johnson's per- 
spicuity he selects the most elaborate definition from the dictionary — a 
definition indeed so elaborate as to be actually without meaning. He was 
without penetration, for he could see no excellence in any of his contem- 
poraries' — I should say English contemporaries, — for with Daliymple, 
Hume, Robertson, and Kames he professes to be pleased. Yet even here 
.his admiration is suspicious, for he praises them only before Johnson, and I 
-have observed that he rarely praises men before Johnson but with the view 
of exciting the Doctor's sarcasms. Goldsmith, Sterne, Gibbon, Akenside, 
were dull fellows in Boswell's eyes. How came this man to write the 
**most interesting biography in the world ?"=-Ed. 



3 14 James Bosiucll, 



a confident, overweening, dictatorial pedant, though of parts and 
learning ; and of a weak, shallow, submissive admirer of such a 
character, deriving a ^•anity from that very admiration. — Dr. 
Hurd} 

^ Bozzy is really a wizard ; he makes the sun stand still. Till 
his work is done the future stands respectfully aloof. Out of 
ever-shifting time he has made fixed and permanent certain 
years, and in these Johnson talks and argues, while Burke 



^ The pride of Boswell is intensely absurd when the undignified conditions 
with which he had surrounded his Hfeare recalled. The pedigree of Punch 
may be allowed to be considerable ; and the pedigree of Boswell may be 
allowed to be considerable. But Punch expatiating to his audience on the 
elation with which he reflects on the anticjuity and honourable alliances of 
his family might not present a spectacle less ludicrous than is exhibited by 
Boswell when he lells his readers the same tale. The pride of Boswell 
bears the same relation to respectable pride that the face of a monkey bears 
to the face of a man. Often his pride walks, often his pride creeps, but 
whether it walks or whether it creeps it is the same very objectionable cari- 
cature of what in its natural state is decent and commendable. Of Boswell 
Mr. Croker is loud in the praise. His talents, he says, were by no means in- 
considerable ; he was well-read, and knew the world ; his narrative is full of 
good sense, and his style lluent and perspicacious. Though of Mr. Croker's 
capacity of judging between what is infamously bad and what is only 
moderately good, he has not left us a single proof, his opinion may be 
suffered to rest ; it is too late, the task would be too unprofitable, to disturb 
it. But Mr. Croker, not satisfied with the nonsense with which he has 
fringed Boswell s plain narrative, expresses his surj3rise that Sir Alexander 
]joswell, Boswell's eldest son, should have objected to the kind of reputa- 
tion that his father had attained. Where is the surprise? Before and after 
the death of Johnson the print-shops were full of engravings representing 
the Doctor as a bear led about by Boswell as a monkey. Satires on Boswell 
flew thick. Peter Pindar, with the virulence of great satirical powers, had 
stabbed and re-stabbed unhappy Boswell until 4ie had made mere carrion of 
his reputation, of which the odour served to collect all the rest of the critical 
crows. Madame Piozzi, with a tongue barbed by disappointment and the 
contempt which her marriage had provoked from an impertinent public, 
was busy diftusing the name of Boswell in her coteries, coupled with recol- 
lections of humiliation and defeat, such as no other man but Boswell could 
have endured for an hour. The epigrams of Beauclerk, like the dowTi of 
thistles, were blo^^ll about ; the seeds fell, and fresh crops spnmg. Horace 
Walpole Avas setting his table in a roar with his sarcastic portrait of the 
Jackanapes Boswell and the gigantic pedant Johnson. George Seh\'}'n was 
making rare capital out of him. Gifford, with ponderous lance, was running 
his laborious muck. Colman was repeating f^oote's imitation of him with 
*' new effects.'" Sheridan was quoting him. That Sir Alexander Boswell 
should have objected to the kind of reputation that his father had acquired 
is natural, but it is even more natural that Mr. Croker should have failed to 
see the reason of Sir Alexander's objection. — Ed. 



jfames Bo swell — William Combe. 3 1 S 



listens, and Reynolds takes snuff, and Goldsmith, with hollowed 
hand, whispers a sly remark to his neighbour. There have sat 
these ghosts for seventy years now, looked a.t and listened to 
by the passing generations, and there they still sit, the one 
voice going on ! Smile at Bozzy as we may, he was a spiritual 
phenomenon quite as rare as Johnson.—^. Smith, 

A Jackanapes who has lately made a noise here, one Boswell. 
— 'Horace Walpole, 

I do not think so badly of Boswell ; he can be an honest 
fellow. Goldsmith's description of him was the best. Some 
one, under momentary irritation, I forget now on what occasion, 
called him a Scotch cur." ''No, no," replied Goldsmith, 
playing on the word, '' you are too severe ; he is merely a 
Scotch bur, Tom Davies threw him at Johnson in sport, and 
he has the faculty oi sticking''— yohii Wilkes, 

And Boswell, aping with preposterous pride, 
Johnson's worst frailties, rolls from side to side 3 
His heavy head from hour to hour erects. 
Affects the fool, and is what he affects, — -Gifford, 

He had an odd mock solemnity of tone and manner that he 
had acquired imperceptibly from constantly thinking of and 

imitating Dr. Johnson There was also something slouching 

in the gait and dress of Mr. Boswell that wore an air ridicu- 
lously enough of purporting to personify the same model. His 
clothes were always too large for him \ his hair or wig was con- 
stantly in a stage of negligence 3 and he never for a moment sat 
still or upright on a chair. Every look and movement displayed 
either intentional or involuntary mAx^Xioii—MaclmneUAi^Nay. 

William Combe, 
1741-1823, 

Mr. Combe possessed great talents and a very fine person, 
as well as a good fortune, which unhappily he soon dissipated 
among the high connexions to which his talents and attain- 
ments introduced him., and he subsequently passed dirough 
many vicissitudes of life, which at length compelled him to 
resort to literature for support. — Anon.^ '' Life of Co7nbeJ^ 

That infamous Combe.— Walpole, 

It was whilst engaged in this way, and when his fortune was 



IVilliani Covibc. 



at a very low ebb, that he was sent for by Mr. R. Ackerman, 
the then well-known prmtseller of the Strand. This must have 
been early in the year iSio. Rowlandson, it appears, had 
offered to Mr. Ackerman a number of drawings, representing 
an old clergyman and schoolmaster, avIio felt or fancied himself 
in love with the fine arts, Quixotically travelling during his holi- 
days in (|uest of tlie picturesque; and as the publisher was 
about starting a new Poetical Ma^^azinc or rhyming miscellany 
for the then fashionable romantic verses, with pictures to in- 
crease their attraction, it occurred to him that Rowlandson's illus- 
trations would suit the magazine very well, if a narrative in verse 
could be got to accompany them. Combe readily fell in with 

the idea, and a bargain was at once concluded Such was 

the origin of " Dr. Syntax" — or The Schoolmaster's Tour," as 
the work was first called — in tlie montlily pages of the Poetical 
Magazine. — I/otten. 

Whether there will be any desire or rather means of suspend- 
ing a ])iece of marble over my grave I have my doubts. — 
Combe. 

Talked of Combe ; said to be tlie writer of Macleod's " Loo- 
Choo," as he certainly was of Lord Lyttleton's " Letters" and 
many other books of other people's. Doctor Syntax" is his. 
Combe kicked Lord Lyttleton downstairs at some watering- 
place for having ridiculed Lady Archer by calling her a drunken 
peacock, on account of the sort of rainbow feathers and dress 
she wore. Lord L. also had rolled a piece of blanc-mange 
into a ball, and covering it with variegated comfits, said, " This 
is the sort of egg a dnmken peacock would lay." — T. Moore, 

Combe, author of " The Diaboliad," of Lord Lyttleton's 

Letters," and, more recently, of " Dr. Syntax's Three Tours," 
w^as a most extraordinar)- person. During a very long life he had 
seen much of the world — its ups and downs. He was certainly 
well connected. Fitzpatrick recollected him at Douay College. 
He moved once in the highest society, and was very intimate 
with the Duke of Bedford. Twenty thousand pounds were 
unexpectedly bequeathed to him by an old gentleman, who said 

he ought to have been Combe's father" (that is, he had been 
on the point of marrying Combe's mother), and who therefore 
left him that large sum. Combe contrived to get rid of the 
money in an incredibly short time. — Rogers's " Table Talk.'' 



317 



Dr. Paley, 
i743~t8o5. 




Mr. Paley's book has been universally well received, and 
the first edition is already gone. As he wrote and pubHshed 
it at my desire, I have just given him a prebend of St. Paul's, 
as a mark of my approbation and gratitude. It has given me 
much pleasure to find that this book has been much read and 
approved at Cambridge, where I think it will do essential 
service ; and indeed it is admirably calculated for all the higher 
orders of the community, as yours will be for the lower,— 
Bishop Porteus to H, More, 

~ This day finished Paley's " Natural Theology." It is a very 
able work — evinces the author's acquaintance with anatomy 
and almost all science. All these endowments are made sub- 
servient to the grand purpose for which the book is written. 
But the book is deficient in some essential points.—^ More, 

All the theological works of all the numerous bishops whom 
(Pitt) made and translated are not, when put together, worth 
fifty pages of the "Horae Paulinae," of the ^'Natural Theology," 
or of the "View of the Evidences of Christianity." — Macaiilay. 

The small deference rendered to the most holy things by the 
able theologian Paley, is not the least remarkable of his 
characteristics. — Ettrick Shepherd. 

Among several anecdotes of Paley, communicated to me 
long ago by a gentleman who resided in his neighbourhood, 
were these : — -When Paley rose in the church, he set up a 
carriage, and by his wife's directions, his arms were painted on 
-the panels. They were copied from the engraving on a silver 
cup which Mrs. P. supposed to be the bearings of his family. 
Paley thought it a pity to undeceive his wife ; but the truth 
was, he had purchased the cup at a sale. He permitted — nay, 
wished — ^his daughters to go to evening parties ; but insisted 
that one of them should always remain at home to give her 
assistance, if needed, by rubbing him, &c., in case of an attack 
of the rheumatic pains to which he was subject. " This," he 
.said, " taught them natural affection." — Note to Rogers^s Table 



We none of us can believe that Dr. Paley has exercised his 
mind upon intellectual philosophy in vain. The fruits of it in 



Talk. 



3i8 Dr. Paley—Miss Aikin {Mrs. Barbauld). 



him are sound sense, delivered so perspicuously, that a man 
may profit by it, and a child may comprehend it. — Sydney 
Smith. 

When Dr. Paley had finished his ''Moral Philosophy" the 
MS. was offered to Mr. Faulder, of Bond Street, for one hun- 
dred guineas ; but he declined the risk of publishing it on his 
own account. it was published, and the success of the 

book had been in some degree ascertained, the author again 
oftered it to the same bookseller for three hundred pounds ; 
but he refused to give more than two hundred and fifty. While 
this negociation was pending, a bookseller from Carlisle 
happening to call on an eminent publisher in Paternoster Row, 
was commissioned by him to offer Dr. Paley one thousand 
pounds for the cop}Tight of his book. The bookseller on his 
return to Carlisle duly executed his commission, which was 
communicated without delay to the Bishop of Clonfert, who 
being at that time in London, had undertaken the management 
of the aflair. Never did I sufler so much anxious fear," said 
Dr. Paley, in relating the circumstance, " as on this occasion, 
lest my friend should have concluded the bargain with Mr. 
Faulder before my letter could reach him." Luckily he had 
not ; but on receiving the letter went immediately into Bond 
Street, and made his new demand. Mr. Faulder, though in 
no small degree surprised and astonished at the advance, agreed 
for the sum required before the Bishop left the house. — Percy 
Anecdotes'' 

Miss Aikin (Mrs. Barbauld). 
1743-1S25. 

Miss Aikin was an instance of early cultivation, but in what 
did it terminate ? In marrying a little Presbyterian parson, who 
keeps an infant boarding school, so that all her employment 
now is 

To suckle fools and chronicle small beer." 

She tells the children This is a cat and that is a dog, with 
four legs and a tail : see there ! you are much better than a 
cat or a dog, for you can speak." If I had bestowed such an 
education on a daughter, and had discovered that she thought 
of marrying such a fellow, I would have sent her to the Con- 
gress,— Johnson, 



Miss Aikin {Mrs. Barbatild)— Rowland HilL 3 19 

I greatly admire her talents and taste ; but our views, both 
political and religious, run so very wide of each other, that I 
lose the great pleasure that I might have otherwise found in her 
society, which is very intellectual.— Jjr^?;/;^(^/^ More, 

He (C. J. Fox) thought Mrs. Barbauld's " Life of Richard- 
son " admirable ; and regretted that she wasted her talents in 
writing books for children (excellent as those books might be) 
now that there were so many pieces of that description.— *Sa;7/. 
Rogers, 

Rowland Hill 
1744-1833. 

No man has ever drawai, since the days of our Saviour, such 
sublime images from nature ; here Mr. Hill excels every other 
man. — Robert Hall. 

Mr. Hill once introduced Dr. Jenner to a nobleman in these 
terms Allow me to present to your lordship my friend. Dr. 
Jenner, who has been the means of saving more lives than any 
other man." Dr. Jenner bowed, and said with great earnest- 
ness, addressing Mr. Hill, "Ah ! would, like you, I could say 
soulsJ' — Life of Rowland HillP 

On the part of the Calvinists the most conspicuous writers 
were the brothers Richard (afterwards Sir Richard) and Row- 
land Hill, and Augustus Montague Toplady Never were 

any writings more thoroughly saturated with the essential acid 
of Calvinism than those of the predestinarian champions. It 
would scarcely be credible that three persons of good birth and 
education, and of unquestionable goodness and piety, should 
have carried on controversy in so vile a manner and with so 
detestable a spirit, if the hatred of the theologians had not un- 
happily become proverbial. — Southey. 

He was rather above the middle height in stature, and when 
young was remarkably thin, though wonderfully strong and 
active. His countenance was expressive of the complexion of 
his mind, and the play upon his lips, and piercing look of his 
small grey eyes, denoted both intelligence and humour. 
When between fifty and sixty years of age, his fine 'upright 
figure, combined with a high-bred, gentlemanlike deportment, 
caused him to be the subject of general admiration ; and when 
the weight of eighty years rested on his head, his erect form was 



320 



Rowland Hill. 



not bowed down, nor was the vigour of his mind in the slightest 

degree impaired In his theological opinions he leant 

towards the tenets of Calvin, but what is called Hyper-Calvinism 
he could not endure. In a system of doctrine he was the 
follower of no man, but drew his sermons fresh from a prayer- 
ful reading of the Bible, and happy would it be for all ministers 

if in this respect they imitated his example He was for 

drawing together all the people of God, wherever they could 
meet, and was willing to join in a universal communion with 
Christians of every name. When on one occasion he had 
preached in a cl-iai)el where none but baptized adults were 
admitted to the Sacrament, he wished to have communicated 
with them, but he was told respectfully You cannot sit down 
at our table." He only replied calmly, I thought it was the 
Lord's table."— ''Memoirs of HiUr 

I have seen Rowland Hill (I believe a sincere and excellent 
man) .... guilty of such violence in the pulpit that the im- 
pression of thos(? who were not accustomed to his oddities was 
that he was a maniac. Freciuently I have seen him wield and 
poise in the air and shake the Bible at his congregation, till he 
has dropped it among his auditory. (It was a common thing to 
see him stoop to pick it uj) within the pulpit.) I have seen 
him, while dealing out brimstone by the bushel and torments 
by the hundredweight, knock the candles on either side out of 
their sockets. The pulpit-cushion was another plaything. I 
have often expected he would throw it at me, and I perfectly 
recollect making the preparatory action of a cricketer as I 
exchanged looks with some of my companions, youngsters like 
myself, to catch it when he should hurl it from him in his 
enthusiasm. He, who had the advantage of birth and associa- 
tion, and a college education, should have proudly maintained 
his station in contradistinction to the vulgar herd of the "elect," 
instead of being a kind of leader to them ; but he was as 
remarkable as the most unwashed and uneducated of the set 
for the preaching-made-easy system — the reducing the sublime 
to the level of such understandings as theirs to whom they 
principally addressed themselves — the notion of making divine 
truths clear to ''the meanest capacity" by \Tilgar illustration. 
I shall mention only three or four of his most extraordinary 
attempts at effect in this way. "The love of our Lord is like 
a good large round of beef, my brethren ; you may cut and 
come again." You all know how difficult it is to catch a pig 



Rowland Hill — Hannah Mo7^e. 



321 



by the tail; you will, find it equally so to catch the love of 
our Lord after backsliding."^ — "'Autobiography of Charles 
Mafhezusy 

Hannah More. 
1745-1833- 

We bear testimony to her talents, her good sense, and her 
real piety. There occur every now and then in her productions 
very original and very profound observations. Her advice is 
often characterized by the most amiable good sense, and con- 
veyed in the most brilliant and inviting style. If, instead of 
belonging to a trumpery faction, she had only watched over those 
great points of religion in which the hearts of every sect of 
Christians are interested, she would have been one of the most 
useful and valuable writers of her day. — Sydney Smith, 



^ "I remember Rowland Hill," adds Mathews, '*from my infancy. 
He was an odd, absent, flighty person. So inattentive was he to nicety of 
dress that I have seen him enter my father's house wdth one red slipper 
and one shoe, the knees of his breeches untied, and the strings dangling 
down his legs. In this state he had walked from Blackfriars Road un- 
conscious of his eccentric appearance." In his " Life" some of his sayings 
have been presei*ved. These illustrations exhibit him with all Dr. Johnson's 
manner, and nothing of Dr. Johnson's wit. Here are some samples : 
Two sets of people growing warm in a religious discussion, Rowland Hill 
was appealed to. We are told that he **put on one of his arch looks," 
and exclaimed, ' * Well, I declare I must say you are both equally wrong ; 
and I was just thinking that if you were tied together by the tail like two 
cats, and thrown over a forked stick, you would scratch each other's eyes 
out." *' The effect," says the delighted narrator, of such an unexpected 
decision must be left to the imagination." *'I well remember," says the 
Rev. Mr. Sidney, one morning the footman ushered in a most romantic- 
looking lady. She advanced with measured steps, and with an air that 
caused Mr. Hill to retreat towards the fireplace. She began, * Divine 
shepherd' — "Pon my word, ma'am !' — 'I hear you have great influence 
with the royal family. ' ' Well, ma'am, and did you hear anything else ?' 
* Now, seriously, sir, my son has the most wonderful poetic powers. Sir, 

his poetry is of a sublime order — noble, original, fine ' ' Well, I 

wonder what will come next ?' muttered Mr. Hill, in a low tone. * * Yes, 
sir, pardon the liberty, and therefore I called to ask you to get him made 
poet-laureate.' * Ma'am, you might as well ask me to get him made Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury. ' " Surely there is no point, no humour here. Let 
us hope Mr. Hill did better than this. — Ed. 

y 



322 



HannaJL More, 



With feeling, elegance and force 

Unite their matchless power ; 
And prove that from a heavenly source 

Springs Eldred of the Bower.^ 
True, cries the god of verse, 'tis mine, 

And now the farce is o'er ; 
To vex proud man I wrote each line. 

And gave them Hannah More. — Gar rick. 

There was a happy balance in the (jualities of this gifted 
lady which kept her from all extremes. A\'ith a due estimate 
of the value of modern advancement, she retained the savour 
of our island character, as it was once distinguished by its 
probity and plainness among the communities of Christendom. 
What woman was, and what woman is, in her best estate, in the 
past and present periods of her domestic history, were displayed 
in her deportment ; and what woman should be under all estates 
was illustrated in those principles which raised her character 
above the reach of shifting opinions, and made it a pattern for 
all times and countries. — William Roberts.' 

The Bishop of London told me yesterday that Mrs. H. More 
was very unwell. Her life is of too much consequence to the 
world not to create serious alarm to her friends when she is 

indisposed My reverence for her unblemished character 

and exalted piety has turned into respectful attention. — Duchess 
of Gloucester. 



^ One of Mrs. Moic's earlier compositions. It was lavishly extolled. 
Jolmson grew hyperbolical in its ]:>raises. — Ed. 

- William Roberts, Hannah More's biographer, and the sometime editor 
o{\\\Q British Rr^iciv, celebrated by Lord Byron as ** My Grandmother's 
Review." 

For fear some prudish readers should grow skittish, 
I've bribed my grandmother's review — the British." 

Sucli were the lines — the most transparent irony that was ever put into a 
couplet — ^^•hich provoked from the British the retort that set the whole of 
England laughing at the editor's imbecility. *' Xo misdemeanour," cried 
Mr. Roberts, *'not even that of sending into the world obscene and 
blasphemous poetr}% the product of a studious lewdness, and a laboured 
impiety, appears to us in so detestable a light as the acceptance of a present 
by an editor of a Review." Imagine this ! Lord Byron retorted under the 
pseudonjnn of Wortley Clutterbuck. He should have stuck to rh\Tne ; for 
nothing can be more lamentably weak than his letter. Macaulay, Jeffrey, 
Southey, or even Croker, would have made Roberts, to use Johnson's blunt 
language, hang himself.— Ed. 



Hannah More — William Hay ley, 323 

It has been my fortune, during a long and close inter- 
course with mankind, to have enjoyed many and valuable 
opportunities of observing and studying the human character 
under various and trying circumstances ; but never, I can say 
with truth, have I known a character in all respects so perfect as 
that of Mrs. Hannah More. — Z^r. Carrick. 

Holy Hannah ! — Ho7'ace Walpole. 

It is no small gratification to me that I have seen and con- 
versed with Mrs. Hannah More. She is' indisputably the first 
literary female I ever met with ; in part no doubt because 
she is a Christian. — Coleridge. 

She led a happier life than any one I ever heard of All that 
elegant luxury afiorded she enjoyed, without the care, anxiety, 
and expense that their owners find unavoidable ; she luxuriated 
in the highest intellectual pleasures, and drank them from the 
purest sources, living as she did with the wise, the worthy, the 
Avitty, and the elegant, the learned, the pious, philosophers and 
saints. Of the praise that flows from the heart no queen or 
princess ever received more to the last day of her protracted 
though not painless existence. — Mrs. Granfs " Letters.'^ 

William Hayley. 
1745-1820. 

Since Pope's death I am satisfied that England has not seen 
so happy a mixture of strong sense and flowing numbers.— 
Gibbon. 

Much pains were taken by Mr. Hayley's friends to prevail on 
Dr. Johnson to read the ^' Triumphs of Temper," when it was in 
its zenith ; at last he consented, but never got beyond the two 
first pages, of which he uttered a few words of contempt that I 
now have forgotten. — Mrs. Rose. 

Behold ! ye tarts ! one moment spare the text — - 
Hayley's last work and worst — until his next. — Byron. 

His style in youth or age is still the same, 
For ever feeble, and for ever tame. — Ibid. 

Mr. Hayley is now forgotten, and the intense school have 
taken place of a man who had ten times their knowledge, learn- 
ing, and taste. Fairly, nothing but Pope stands before him as 
an essayist in rhyme. What, after the Rape of the Lock," can 

Y 2 



324 WilliajH Hayhy — Sir William jfcucs. 



be read /'///"The Triumphs of Temper" in hcroi-comicl 
\<\\o has ever furnished such iUustralions as his tides on epic 
])oetry supply, with his masterly specimens and analyses of 
Dante and Ercilla ? What is neater or more amusing than his 
comedies in rhyme ? — James Boadeti. 

If Hayley was fomierly over-rated lie is now undervalued. 
He was a most accomplished ])erson, as indeed is evident from 
the notes to his various comi)Ositions - ivMc^ w]ii( li Lord 
Holland admired greatly. — Sam. Rogers, 

The vain and silly egotism and the tiresi inc iu.ul of Lpiihets 
which clogs his style with sickly atTectalion, revolt me so much 
that I have barely candour enough left to give Hayley credit for 
kindness of heart and steadiness of attachment. — Mrs, Granfs 
Letters r 

Sir William Jones. 
1 746-1 799. 

Oriental Jones was with us ; but he is one of those great 
geniuses whom it is easier to read than to hear ; for whenever 
he speaks it is with seeming reluctance, though master of many 
languages. — Ilanna/t More. 

Sir ^Villiam Jones made his forensic debut about the same 
time as l\rskine, though, according to the account given in Miss 
Hawkins's " Memoirs," on her brother's authority, without pro- 
ducing an equally favourable impression. He si)oke for nearly 
an hour with great confidence in a highly declamator)- tone, and 
with studied action, impressing all i)resent who had ever heard 
of Cicero or Hortensius with the belief that he had worked 
himself up into the notion of his -being one or both of them for 
the occasion. Being little acquainted with the bar, he spoke 
of a case as having been argued by one Mr. Baldwin, a gentle- 
man in long practice, sitting in the first row. This caused a 
titter, but the grand effect was yet to come. The case involved 
certain family disagreements, and he had occasion to mention 
a governess. Some wicked wag told him he had been too hard 
upon her, so the day following he rose as soon as the judges 
had taken their seats, and began in the same high tone, and 
with both hands extended, '* My lords, I have been informed, 
to my inexpressible mortification and regret, that in what I 
yesterday had the honour to state to your lordships I was under- 



Sir William Jones — Dr. Parr. 



325 



stood to mean to say that Miss was a harlot.'* He got 

no further. Solvuntur risii tabulce. And so soon as the judges 
could speak for laughing they hastened to assure him that no 

impression unfavourable to Miss *s morals had been 

made upon the Court. Notwithstanding this inauspicious com- 
mencement, and his fondness for literature, Jones obtained a 
fair share of business. His Essay on Bailments'' is considered 
the best written English law-book on a practical subject. None 
can be placed alongside of it for style and method. — Ediiiburgh 
Revieiv^ 1^45. 

Dr. Parr. 

1747-1825. 

There is a lovingness of heart about Parr, a susceptibility of 
the affections, which would endear him, even without his 
Greek.-— Taylor, 

Having spent an evening at Mr. Langton's with the Rev. Dr. 
Parr, Johnson was much pleased with the conversation of that 
learned gentleman, and after he was gone, said to Mr. Langton, 
^' Sir, I am obliged to you for having asked me this evening ; 
Parr is a fair man ; I do not know when I have had an occa- 
sion for such free controversy. It is remarkable how much of 
a man's life may pass without meeting with any instance of 
this kind of open discussion." — La7igto7i's " yohnsoniajiay 

A great scholar, as rude and violent as most Greek scholars 
are, unless they happen to be bishops. He has left nothing 
behind him worth leaving ; he was rather fitted for the law than 
the church, and would have been a more considerable man if 
he had been more knocked about among his equals. He lived 
with country gentlemen and clergymen, who flattered and 
feared him. — Sydney S?nith, 

Lord Holland used to say that it was most unfortunate for a 
man so full of learning and information as Dr. Parr that he 
could not easily communicate his knowledge ; for when he 
spoke nobody could make out what he said, and when he wrote, 
nobody could read his handwriting. — Earl Russell. 

.... The distinguished scholar, Dr. Parr, who, to the massy 
erudition of a former age, joined all the free and enlightened 
intelligence of the present. — Thomas Moore, 

That model of pedants. — Sir Scoff, 



326 



Dr, Parr. 



Dr. Parr had a great deal of sensibility. When I read to 
him in Lincoln's-inn Fields the account of O'Coighly's death, 
the tears rolled down his checks.^ .... Parr was frequently tire- 
some in conversation, talking like a schoolmaster. He had a 
horror of the east wind ; and Tom Sheridan once kept him a 
prisoner in the house for a fortnight by fixing the weatlier- 
cock in that direction. — Sam. Rogers. 

Porson had no very high oi)inion of Parr, and could not 
endure his metaphysics. One evening Parr was beginning a 
regular harangue on the origin of evil, when Porson stopped 
him short by asking '-What was the use of it?" Porson, who 
shrank on all occasions from praise of himself, was only 
annoyed by the eulogies which Parr lavished on him in print. 
\\'hcn Parr jjublished the Remarks on Combe's Statement," in 
which Porson is termed a "giant in literature," 6v:c., Porson 
said, " How should Dr. Parr be able to take the measure of a 
giant ?" — " Porsoniana:' 

^^'hat, meanwhile, must be the condition of an Era, when the 
highest advantages there become per\'erted into drawbacks ; 
when, if you take two men of genius, and put the one between 
the handles of a ])lough, and mount the other between the 
painted coronets of a coach and four, and bid them both move 
along, the former shall arrive a liurns, the latter a Byron ; two 
men of talent, and put the one into a printer's chapel, full of 
lamp-black, tyrannous usage, hard toil, and the other into 
Oxford Universities, with lexicons and libraries, and hired ex- 
positors and sumptuous endowments, the former shall come 
out a Dr. Franklin, the latter a Dr. Parr ! — Carlyle. 

He died in March, 1825, in his eightieth year, like the cele- 
brated linguist and scholar, Mezzofanti, leaving behind few 
records of his vast erudition. All the remains of Dr. Parr are 
comprised in a collection of sermons, a ^' Tract on Education, 
a Preflice to Bellendenus de Statu," and a " Letter from 
Irenopohs, to the Inhabitants of Eleutheropolis," Character 
of the late Charles James Fox," and some ephemeral pamphlets, 
occasioned by his critical disputes and controversies with Dr. 
Charles Combe and others — 



Parr defended O'Coighly by saying, "He might have been worse." 
"How so?" inquired Sir James Mackintosh. "Why, Jemmy," replied 
Parr, "he was an Irishman — he might have been a Scotchman ; he was a 
priest — he might have been a lawyer ; he was a traitor — he might have been 
an apostate. " 



Z^r. Parr — Jeremy Bent ham. 



327 



Of Bentley's feuds — of Person's — Parr's 
Most savage Greek and Latin wars, 

few remains are left ; and mankind would be nothing the worse 
if their battles had never been waged at all. Dr. Parr was 
renowned for his smoking, even more than Dr. Isaac Barrow. 
He would empty twenty pipes of an evening in his own house ; 
ana when he was on his good behaviour in fashionable circles, 
it is said, he pined after the weed. — Dr. Madden. 

To half of Busby's skill in mood and tense 

Add Bentley's pedantry without his sense ; 

From Warburton take all the spleen you find. 

But leave his genius and his wit behind ; 

Squeeze Churchill's rancour from the verse it flows in, 

And knead it stiff with Johnson's turgid prosing ; 

Add all the piety of Saint- Voltaire, 

Mix the gross compounds — Fiat — Dr. Parr. — Epigram.^ 

Jeremy Bentham. 
1747-1S32. 

I should like to live the remaining years of my life, a year 
at a time, at the end of the next six or eight centuries, to see 
the effects which my writings will, by that time, have had on 
the world. — Bentham^ 

The style of Mr. Bentham is unpopular, not to say unintel- 
ligible. He wrote a language of his own that darkejis know- 
ledge. His works have been translated into French — they 
ought to be translated into English. People wondered that 
he was not prosecuted for the boldness and severity of some of 
his invectives ; but he might have wrapped up high treason in 
one of his inextricable periods, and it would never have 
found its way into Westminster Hall. He was a kind ot 
manuscript-author — he wrote a cypher hand, which the vulgar 



^ From the JoJm Bull. Very likely by Theodore Hook. — Ed.. 

^ Bentham's vanity finds a copious illustration in his own sayings. 
am a selfish man," says he, "as selfish as any man can be. But in me, 
somehow or other, so it happens, selfishness has taken the shape of benevo- 
lence." "I never told a lie," he told Dr. B o wring ; "I never, in my 
remembrance, did what I knew to be a dishonest thing." — Ed. 



328 



JcrciJiy BcuiJiavu 



ha\ e no key to. It is a barbarous philosophical jargon, with 
all the repetitions, formalities, uncouth nomenclature, and 
verbiage of law Latin ; and what makes it worse, it is not 
mere verbiage, but has a great deal of acuteness and meaning 
in it, wliicli vou would be glad to pick out if you could. — 
Hazlitt, 

He was a great and voluminous writer on metaphysical and 
political subjects, as well as on lurisi)ru(lence ; he strove for 
many years for what he considered the good of the people ; 
and he almost died for the people, for he be(iueat]ied his body 
to the dissectors, ill order to l)enelU the science of anatomy. — 
CJianibcrs. 

Mr. Denlham is Kjng ; Mr. l^enlham is occasionally in- 
volved and obscure ; Mr. lientham invents new and alarming 
expressions ; Mr. IJentham loves division and subdivision — - 
and he loves method itself more than its conseiiuences. I'hosc 
only therefore who know his originality, his knowledge, his 
vigour, his boldness, will recur to the work themselves. The 
great mass of readers will not purchase improvement at so dear 
a rate, but will choose raUier to become accjuainted with Mr. 
IVMitham through the medium of reviews — after that eminent 
l)hilosoi)her has been washed, trimmed, shaved, and forced into 
clean linen. — Sydney Smit/i, KtTieics.'' 

Bentliam lived next door. We used to see him, bustling 
awa\' in his sort of half-running walk, in the garden. Both 
Hazlitt and I often looked with a longing eye from the win- 
dows of the room at the white-haired philosopher in his leafy 
shelter, his head the finest and most venerable ever placed on 
human shoulders. The awe which his admirers had of Bentham 
was carried so iiw as to make them think everything he said or 
thought a miracle. Once 1 remember he came to see (Leigh) 
Hunt in Surrey Gaol, and jjlayed battledore and shuttle- 
cock with him. Hunt told me after of the prodigious power 
of Bentham's mind. " He proposed," said Hunt, "a reform in 
the handle of batdedores." "Did he!" said I, with awful 
respect. " He did," said Hunt, " taking in everything, you see, 
like the elephant's trunk, which lifts alike a pin or twelve 
hundredweight." Extraordinary," I echoed; and then Hunt 
would regard me, the artist, the mere artist, with the laurelled 
superiority becoming the poet — the Vates, as Byron called 
him. — B. R. Hay do ^'Meinoij'sy 

It is impossible to know Bentham, and to have witnessed 



Jeremy Bent ham — Charles James Fox. 329 



his benevolence, his disinterestedness, and the zeal with which 
he has devoted his whole life to the service of his fellow- 
creatures, without admiring and revering him. — Sir Romilly^ 
'\Diaryr 

Bentham would have preferred the glory of coming back once 
in every hundred years to witness the progress of his opinions ; 
but as his riper judgment had exorcised his imagination of its 
faith in ghosts, this was not a project to be relied upon. He 
was obliged therefore to put up with the nearest approximation 
he could think of to a posthumous participation in his fame. As 
usual with him, a love of mankind and an admiration of himself 
went hand in hand in his object and its details. The first 
thing to be done was to collect and enshrine his written wisdom 
— the spirit of the inner man ; for this nothing more was needed 
than a complete edition of his writings and a memoir of his 

life So far his preparations for immortality are not unlike 

what other people might have made — at least, such authors as 
are fortunate enough to leave behind them assets sufficient to 
command a printer. But Bentham was far too original to stop 
here. We have observed on his biiffa humour for mixing the 

serious and ludicrous together He ordains by will that 

the form of his outward man should be kept together and pre- 
served (as far as science can preserve our poor anatomies) in 
the attitude in which he sat when engaged in thought — his 
black coat, chair, and staff as usual; and he suggests that 
his disciples should meet once a year or oftener, to commemo- 
rate the founder of the greatest happiness system of morals 
and legislation, on which occasion his executor is to wheel him 
in, to be stationed in such part of the room as to the assembled 
company shall seem meet. — Edinburgh Reinew^ 1843. 

Charles James Fox. 
1749-1806. 

The great feature of his life was the long and unwearied 
opposition which he made to the low cunning, the profligate 
extravagance, the sycophant mediocrity, and the stupici obsti- 
nacy of the English court. — Sydney Sniith. 

Mr. Fox, though not an adept in the use of political wiles, 
was very unlikely to be the dupe of them. He was conversant 
in the ways of men, as well as in the contents of books. He 



330 



Cliarlcs Javics Fox. 



^yas acquainted with the pecuHar language of states, their pecu- 
liar forms, and the grounds and effects of their peculiar usages. 
From his earliest youth he had investigated the science of 
politics in the greater and the smaller scale ; he had studied it 
in the records of history, both pojiular and rare — in the con- 
ferences of ambassadors — in the archives of royal cabinets — in 
the minuter detail of memoirs — and in collected or straggling 
anecdotes of the wrangles, intrigues, and cabals, which, spring- 
ing uj) in the secret recesses of courts, shed their baleful inllu- 
ence on the determinations of sovereigns, the fortunes of 
favourites, and the tranciuillily of kingdoms. — Dr. Parr. 

Fox is a most extraordinary man : here is a man who has 
divided the kingdom with Cxsar ; so that it was a doubt 
whether the nation should be niled by the sceptre of George 
the Third or the tongue of Fox. — yoJuison. 

Pitt I never heard ; Fox but once, and then he struck me as 
a debater, which to me seems as different from an orator as an 
imi)ro\ isalore or a versifier from a poet. — Byron} 

AVhen I became accjuainted with Fox he had given up that 
kind of life entirely (i.e., dissipation) and resided in the most 
l)erfect sobriety and regularity at St. Anne's Hill. There he 
was very happy, delighting in study, in niral occupations and 
rural jjrospects. He would break from a criticism on Porson's 
" Euripides" to look for the little pigs. I remember his calling 
out to the Chertsey Plills, when a thick mist, which had for 
some time concealed them, rolled away, " Good morning to 
you I I am glad to see you again I" There was a walk in his 
grounds, which led to a lane through which the farmers used to 
pass ; and he would stop them and talk to them with great 
interest about the price of turnips, &c. I was one day with 
him in the Louvre, when he suddenly turned from the pictures, 
and looking out of the window, exclaimed, This hot sun will 
burn up my turnips at St. Anne's Hill." — Rogers. 

Fox, with a great hesitation in his elocution, and a barren- 
ness of expression, had conquered these impediments and the 
prejudice they had raised against his speaking, by a vehemence 
of reasoning and a closeness of argument, that beat all the 



^ Never in my life did I hear anything equal to Fox's speeches in reply — 
they were wonderful. Burke did not do himself justice as a speaker ; his 
manner was hurried, and he always seemed to be in a passion, Pitt's voice 
sounded as if he had worsted in his mouth. — Rogers's " Table Talk}'' 



Charles James Fox. 



331 



orators of the time. His spirit, his steadiness, his humanity, 
procured him strong attachments, which, the more jealous he 
grew of Pitt, the more he cultivated. — " Memoirs^'' by Horace 
Walpole, 

Among the many great and striking endowments of Mr. Fox 
there is one in particular to which I cannot help adverting, and 
which I trust will still continue to animate all those who have 
admired him in pubHc or loved him in private life. I mean 
that deep and intimate feeling for human nature, which has 
generally been estranged from the bosom of statesmen, but 
which was with him a part of his existence, ever actuating him 
to alleviate the evils, to vindicate the rights, to soften the 
calamities, and to increase by every means in his power the 
happiness of mankind. In this respect he is not lost to us. As 
long as our language remains his powerful effusions will con- 
tinue to improve and enlighten his countrymen, and to diffuse 
a milder and more benevolent spirit, not only in the recesses 
of private life, but in the direction of nations and the inter- 
course of states. — '-''Life of William Roscoe.^^ 

The great man whose mighty efforts in the cause of peace, of 
truth, and of liberty, have made that name immortal.— jS'^/;^ 
htirgh Reviezu^ 1834- 

When he got fairly into his subject, was heartily warmed 
with it, he poured forth words and periods of fire that smote 
you, and deprived you of all power to reflect and rescue your- 
self, whilst he went on to seize the faculties of the listener, and 
carry them captive along with him v/hithersoever he pleased 
to rush. It is ridiculous to doubt that he was a far closer 
reasoner, a much more argumentative speaker, than Demosthenes. 
—Ibid., 1838. 

Mr. Fox wrote debates As far as mere diction was 

concerned, indeed, Mr. Fox did his best to avoid those faults 
which the habit of public speaking is likely to generate. He 
was so nervously apprehensive of sliding into some colloquial 
incorrectness, of debasing his style by a mixture of Parlia- 
mentary slang, that he ran into the opposite error, and purified 
his vocabulary with a scrupulosity unknown to any purist. 
Ciceronem Allobroga dixit He would not allow Addison, 
Bolingbroke, or Middleton to be a sufficient authority for an 
expression. He declared that he would use no word which 
was not to be found in Dryden. In any other person we 
should have called this solicitude mere foppery 3 and in spite of 



332 



Cliarlcs Javics Fox. 



all our admiration for Mr. Fox, we cannot but think that his 
extreme attention to the petty niceties of language was hardly 
worthy of so manly and so capacious an understanding. — 
Macaulay. 

I believe there never was a person yet created who had the 
faculty of reasoning like him. His judgments are never wrong; 
his decision is formed quicker than any man's I ever conversecl 
with ; and he never seems to mistake but in his own affairs. — 
Lord Carlisle to Goor^^e ScliOyii? 

In all other jjoints of the orator, few men were less gifted 
than Fox. 'Yo the last day of his life he was not lluent ; the 
per})etual practice of thirty years had not given him the mastery 
of the Fnglish language. He hesitated, was often at a loss for 
words, turned back upon his steps, and increased his embarrass- 
ment by his unwieldy efforts at extrication. All that belongs 
to attitude and exterior was entirely against him. l]ut his sin- 
gular faculty of throwing his feelings into his speech turned his 
very defects into sources of his success. When he had once 
seized on the ])opular sympathy, if he lost words, it was from 
his absor])ing interest in his cause ; if his arguments were per- 
plexed, it was from ilic weight of his matter. The sudden 
failures of his voice, his ungainly gestures, and all his innumer- 
able sins against oratorical dignity were attributed to a force of 
sincerity, which overpowered all his perception of minor things; 
the burst of a natural and swelling sensibility, which justly 
swept away tlie trifling observances, important only on trivial 
occasions and to trivial men. Fox has, more than once, shed 
tears in the House ; a spectacle ridiculously frequent among 
foreigners, but so rare among the manlier minds of P^nglishmen 
that it only added to his triumjjh. — BlackioooiVs Magazine, 1835. 

The great error of Fox, in the late years of opposition, 
appears to have consisted in that favourable expectation of the 
issue of the French Revolution which was natural to young and 
to speculative thinkers, but hardly to be permitted in a prac- 
tised statesman. He felt too much, and reflected too little ; 
perhaps he did not take sufficient pains to inquire into facts. 
He gave an indolent indulgence to his benevolent and great 
feelings. An error of an inferior appearance, but of fatal influ- 
ence upon the Opposition party, was the countenance given to 



^ When this was written Fox was eighteen years of age. — Ed. 



Charles James Fox — Richard Brinsley Sheridan. 333 



the Jacobin party in England by Mr. Fox. He was misled in 
this by some people about him ; and by the persuasion, no 
doubt, that that powerful party might easily be restrained from 
excess, and in the meantime give effectual aid to the prevalence 
of popular sentiments. Fox was led, in this business, even by 
such an unworthy agent as Dennis O'Brien ; who must have 
been the original, as Mackintosh remarked to me, of Burke's 
picture of the go-hetwee7i^ in the " Appeal from the Old to the 
New Whigs." — Francis Horner. 

Fox's love of play was frightful ; his best friends are said to 
have been half ruined in annuities, given by them as securities 
for him to the Jews. Five hundred thousand of such annuities, 
of Fox and his Society, were advertised to be sold at one time. 
Walpole wondered what Fox would do when he had sold the 
estates of all his friends. Here are some instances of his 
desperate play. Walpole further notes that in the debate on 
the Thirty-nine Articles, Fox did not shine, ^^nor could it be 
wondered at. He had sat up playing at hazard at Almack's 
from Tuesday evening, the 4th, until five in the afternoon of 
Wednesday, the sth. An hour before he had recovered 
12,000/. that he had lost, and by dinner, which was at five 
o'clock, he had ended in losing 11,000/. On the Thursday he 
spoke in the above debate ; went to dinner at past eleven at 
night ; thence to White's, where he drank till seven the next 
morning; thence to Almack's, where he won 6000/., and be- 
tween three and four in the afternoon he set out for Newmarket. 
His brother Stephen lost 11,000/. two nights after, and Charles 
10,000/ more on the T3th: so that in three nights the two 
brothers, the eldest not twenty-five, lost 32,000/" — Timbs, 



Richard Brinsley Sheridan. 
1751-1816. 

Mr. Sheridan's eloquence demanded my applause. — 
Gibbon. 

He who has written the two best comedies of his age is surely 
a considerable man. — Johnson. 

The orator, dramatist, minstrel, who ran 

Through each mode of the lyre, and was master of all ; 



334 



Richard Brinshy Slicridaii. 



A\'hose mind was an essence compounded widi art 
Yxom the finest and best of all other men's powers ; 
\\\\o riil'd like a wizard the world of the heart, 
And could call uj) its sunshine or bring down its showers. 

^[oorL\ 

His is the true style — something l)ctween poetry and prose, 
and better than cither. — Burke. 

The English I-Iy[)erides. — Macaulay. 

Sheridan is laboured and polished ; you always see the 
marks of the chisel and hatchet about him. Curran is a rich and 
glittering ore, which is raised from tlie mine without eftbrt, and 
in the most exul)crant profusion.^— Ilorfic Tookc, 



^ John riulpot Curran. He was called to the Irish Bar in 1775, and die<l 
October i6lh, 181 7. Tom Moore used to say that Curran was far above 
(Irattan in wit and i^enius, but still further below him in real wisdom. IK: 
has no literary claims, the few verst^s wiih which lie has been accredited 
being mc^iiocre. A single exception may perhaps be allowed : — 

O'er the desert of life, where you vainly pursued 
Those ])hantoms of hope which their j^romise disown, 
Have you e'er met some spirit, divinely endued, 
That so kindly could say, you don't sufTer alone? 
And however your fate may have smiTd or have frown'tl, 
Will she deign still to share as the friend or the wife ? 
Then make her the pulse of your heart, for you've found 
The green spot that blooms o'er the desert of life." 

In a " Life of Curran " now before mc each page is loadetl \\\\\\ anecdotes, 
which the admiring l/iographer diligently collected as illustrations of 
Curran's wii. That Curran's eloquence was equal to Burke's, his wit equal 
to Sheridan's, his forensic genius equal to Erskine's, is proved by the 
sutTrages of his contemporaries, and must be allowed by all \Nho read his 
speeches, and who follow the result of his pleading. It was regretted, 
however, by Samuel Rogers that Moore, who was the recipient of Curran's 
best sayings, had not taken the trouble to record them. The omission 
is certainly injurious to Curran's reputation as a wit, for of the pile of 
anecdotes before me I can really find nothing that exhibits Curran with 
more intelligence than might be displayed by a second-rate joker. Yet such 
were his incessant drolleries, that a black sen-ant on determining to quit his 
service gave as an excuse, " Massa, I cannot live longer with you ; you 
make me laugh too much. I am losing my health with you." Of the col- 
lection of a)ia before me the reader .>hall have a few specimens : — Mr. 
Hoare's countenance was grave and solemn ; he rarely smiled ; and if he 
smiled, it was a smile that seemed to relxike the spirit that prompted it. 
Curran, once observing a t\\"inkle to enliven his eye, remarked, "Whenever 
I see smiles on Hoare's face I think they are like tin clasps on an oak 
coffin." — Once, at a rehearsal for a concert, he perceived the proceedings 
to be constantly interrupted by the useless activity of a gentleman who 



Richa7'd Brinsley Sheridan, 



335 



Sheridan worked very hard when he had to prepare him- 
self for any great occasion. His habit was on these emer- 
gencies to rise at four in the morning, to hght up a prodigious 
quantity of candles around him, and eat toasted muffins while 
he worked. — Tierney, 

The great charm of Sheridan's speaking was his multifarious- 
ness of style. — Sydney Smith. 

Notwithstanding his passion for Miss Lindley, and his grief 
for the death of his father (who had ill-used him), I question 

Sheridan's having a good heart really Publicly he acted 

once or twice with grandeur and principle ; but grandeur of 
public principle is not incompatible with private immorality. — 
Haydo7i, 

In society I have met Sheridan frequently. He was superb ! 
I have seen him cut up Whitbread, quiz Madame de Stael, 
annihilate Colman, and do little less by some others of good 
fame and ability. I have met him at all places and parties — 
at Whitehall with the Melbournes, at the Marquis of Tavistock's, 
at Robins, the auctioneer's, at Sir Humphrey Davy's, at Sam 



conceived himself of the utmost possible importance in the assembly. 
*'Mark that fellow," said Curran, "he is like the fool who blows the 
bellows for the organist, and because he does so, he thinks it is himself who 
performs upon the instrument. " — ^Of some person who voted for the Union, 
and owed his elevation to his vote, he observed "That he was the foulest 
bird that ever perched upon the mins of a broken constitution." — A barrister 
entered the hall with his wig veiy much awry. So much bantering ensued 
that he turned to Curran. " Do you see anything ridiculous in my wig, 
sir?" " Nothing but the head," answered Curran. — Stopping at an inn one 
morning to breakfast, and perceiving everything unpromising, he said to the 
waiter, " I regret to learn that this house has fallen very much back, very 
much indeed. Yet I remember myself cheered and refreshed by its hos- 
pitality. It was a clean and neat retreat ; but report now asserts that your 
hens do not lay f?'esh eggs ! " The pride of the waiter was alarmed, and the 
very freshest of eggs were procured to prove to Curran that the hens were 
still loyal to their traditions. — The elder Mathews' portraiture of Curran 
was one of the most successful imitations of that eminent mimic. In con- 
nexion with this imitation an odd thing is told. Calling one day on a lady 
at Fulham who was intimate with Curran, Mathews addressed her in the tone 
and manner of the eloquent Irishmaai. The lady, Avith visible embarrass- 
ment, endeavoured to check him ; Mathews persisted in his mimicking. 
Suddenly a loud scream broke from an adjoining room. On the folding- 
doors being thrown open a lady was seen in hysterics on the sofa. vShe 
proved to be Mrs. Curran, who had been separated some years from her 
husband. Her alann and distress on being convinced that her husband was 
so near her were the cause of the hysterics. — Ed. 



33^' 



Richard Brinsley SJicridan. 



Rogers's — in short, in most kinds of company, and always found 
him convivial and delighlful. — Byron. 

Mathews (Charles) assures me tliat Sheridan was very dull 
in society, and sat sullen and silent, swallowing glass after glass, 
rather a hindrance than a help ; but tliere was a time when he 
broke out with a resumption of what had been going on, 
done with great force, and generally attacking some person in 
the company, and some opinions whicli he had expressed. — 
Scoffs Diary r 

He was seldom agreeable in tlie presence of actors ; before 
them his cheerfulness and mirlh (if tliey existed at the period 
to which I allude) never appeared. He always entered his own 
theatre as if stealthily and unwillingly, and his appearance 
among his performers never fculed to act like a dark cloud. — 
Life of MatJici.'sr 

I prefer Sheridan's Rivals," to his vSchool for Scandal;" 
exquisite humour pleases me more than the fmest wit. — Roi^crs, 

He i)Ossessed a ductility and versatility of talents which no 
jmblic man in our time has e(iualled ; and these intellectual 
endowments were sustained by a suavity of temjjer which seemed 
to set at defiance all attempts to ruffle or discompose it. Playing 
with his irritable or angry antagonist, Sheridan exi)osed him by 
sallies of wit, or attacked him by classic elegance of satire ; 
performing this arduous task in the face of a crowded assembly 
without losing for an instant either his presence of mind, his 
facility of expression, or his good humour. He wounded deepest, 
indeed, when he smiled, and convulsed his hearers with laughter, 
while the object of his ridicule or animadversion was twisting 
under the lash. Pitt and Dundas, who presented the finest 
marks for his attack, found by experience that though they 
might repel, they could not confound, and still less could they 
silence or vanquish him. In every attempt that they made by 
introducing personalities, or illiberal reflections on his private 
life and literar}^ or dramatic occupations^ to disconcert him, he 
turned their weapons on themselves. Nor did he while thus 
chastising his adversary alter a muscle of his own countenance, 
which, as well as his gestures, seemed to participate and display 
the unalterable severity of his intellectual formation. Rarely 
did he elevate his voice, and never except in subservience to 
the dictates of his judgment with the \\e\y to produce a corre- 
sponding effect on his audience. Yet he was always heard, 
generally listened to with eagerness, and could obtain a hearing 



Richard Brinsley Sheridan — Madame DArblay. 337 



at almost any hour. Burke, who wanted Sheridan's nice tact 
and his amenity of manner, was continually coughed down, and 
on those occasions lost his temper. Even Fox often tired the 
House by the repetitions which he introduced into his speeches. 
Sheridan never abused their patience. Whenever he rose they 
anticipated a rich repast of wit without acrimony, seasoned 
by allusions and citations the most delicate yet obvious in 
their application. — WraxalVs Posthimious Memoirs 

The natural bent of his genius was plainly to splendid* and 
glowing imagery, and if it had been fostered by serious study 
or scholastic discipline, would probably have led to the adop- 
tion of a florid, lofty, and perhaps bombastic style — extremely 
remote, at all events, from the colloquial familiarity which is 
indispensable to the diction or even the existence of comedy. — = 
Edinburgh Reineiv^ 1826. 

Madame D'Arblay, 
1752-1840, 

Miss Burney did for the English novel what Jeremy Collier 
did for the EngHsh drama ; and she did it in a better way. 
She first showed that a tale might be written in which both the 
fashionable and the vulgar life of London might be exhibited 
with great force, and with broad comic humour, and which yet 
should not contain a single line inconsistent with rigid morality 
or even with virgin delicacy. She took away the reproach 
which lay on a most useful and delightful species of composi- 



^ I transcribe the following passage from the Quarterly Review on Sir 
Nathaniel Wraxall : — Sir Nathaniel may be, and we believe is, in private 
society, a good-natured gentleman, and a man quite above practising any 
premeditated deception ; but his ivork is as far from deserving a character 
of good-nature as of veracity. It is not a sufficient justification of his moral 
character, that he does not mean to deceive, and that where he leads his 
reader astray he has himself been previously misled. We think that a 
writer is under no inconsiderable responsibility in his moral character, to 
set down as fact, no more than he htows : for the injury to private feeling 
and public confidence is quite as great from his presumptuous ignorance as 
it would be from absolute falsehood or malice. The fables of Sir Nathaniel 
are now capable of detection, but the detection will not accompany them 
down to posterity ; and we even doubt whether the conviction of Sir 
Nathaniel for a libel, if it should occur, will reach many readers who, fifty 
years hence, may chance to pick up Wraxall's History of My Own 
Time.'" — Quarterly Review^ vol, xiii, p. 215, 

Z 



338 



Madame D'Arblay, 



tion. She vindicated the right of her sex to an equal share in 
a fair and noble province of letters. — Macau/ay. 

AVas introduced by Rogers to Madame D'Arblay, the cele- 
brated authoress of Evelina" and Cecilia" — an elderly lady, 
with no remains of personal beauty, but with a simple and 
gentle manner, a pleasing expression of countenance, and 
apparently quick feelings.' She told me she had wished to see 
two persons — myself, of course, being one, the other, George 
Canning. This was really a compliment to be pleased with — 
a nice little handsome pat of butter, made up by a neat-handed 
Phillis of a dairy-maid, instead of the gTease, fit only for cart- 
wheels, which one is dosed with by the pound. Madame D'Arblay 
told us that the common story of Dr. Burney, her father, 
liaving brought home her own first work, and recommended it 
to lier perusal, was erroneous. Her father was in the secret 
of " Evelina" being printed. Ikit the following circumstance 
may have given rise to the story : — Dr. Burney was at Streatham 
soon after the publication, where he found Mrs. Thrale re- 
covering from her confinement, low at the moment, and out of 
spirits. \\h\\c they were talking together, Johnson, who sat 
beside in a kind of reverie, suddenly broke out, You should 
read this new work, madam — you should read 'Evelina'; e\'ery 
one says it is excellent, and they are right." The delighted 
father obtained a commission from Mrs. Thrale to purchase his 
daughter's work and retired the happiest of men. Madame 
D'Arblay said she was wild with joy at this decisive evidence 
of her literary success, and that she could only give vent to her 
rapture by dancing and skipping round a mulberry-tree in the 
garden. She was xtry young at this time.' — Sir Walter Scott 



^ In 1812 Miss Berry met Mad. D'Arblay, and thus records her impres- 
sions : — "At last Madame D'Arblay arrived. I was very glad to see her 
again. She is wonderfully improved in good looks in ten years, which have 
usually a veiy different effect at an age when people begin to fall off. Her 
face has acquired expression and a charm which it never had before. She 
has gained an cmbonpoiiit very advantageous to her face. "We did not talk 
much about France, but with her intelligence there was a great deal she 
could tell, and much she could not, having a husband and a French esta- 
blishment, to which she was to return after the winter.*' — Miss Berry'' s 
''Journal:' 

- No stress is to be laid on Madame D'Arblay's statements. \\Tien 
Evelina " appeared it was reported as the work of a girl aged seventeen. 
Miss Burney did not contradict the rumour, though, as it was afterwards 
discovered, her age was tzuenty-sn'en — "an important difference," Croker 



M adame DA rblay. 



339 



" Evelina " appeared on the close of January. It was soon 
the talk of the town. A novel, pamting manners truly and 
pleasantly, with characters studied from life, and showing some 
range of social observation and humour, without licentiousness 
or coarseness, was at that time a phenomenon. Richardson, 
Fielding, and Smollett had passed away : the first was long- 
winded, and was beginning to be thought dull ; the other two 
were voted low, and above all, were taboo " to ladies who 
valued their reputation for propriety. The novels of the day 
were wretched farragos of stilted sentimentality and high-flown 
commonplace. Warburton managed to read them, it is said. 
But apart from some peculiar idiosyncrasy, it is difficult to con= 
ceive any of the men or women of Sir Joshua's circle interesting 
themselves in any novel published in the ten years before 

Evelina" came out. And now here was a work which riveted 
Burke and Sir Joshua; threw Johnson, old, sad, and hypochon- 
driac as he was, into fits of admiration and laughter; made 
Sheridan dread a rival in the field ; and extorted honest com- 
pliments from Gibbon, in the full flush of his own reputation. 
Its phrases became catch-words among the wits and blues ; its 
characters were accepted as real types ; and their names affixed 
to originals in all sorts of society. The Miss Palmers told 
Miss Burney, and Miss Reynolds confirmed the story, how Sir 
Joshua, who began the book one day, wh^n he was too much 
engaged to go on with it, was so much caught that he could 
think of nothing else, and was quite absent all the day, not 
knowing a word that was said to him ; and when he took it up 
again found himself so much interested that he sat up all night 
to finish it. — Leslie's Life of Reynolds ^ 



rightly says. We still find her repeating to Walter Scott, forty-eight years 
afterwards, that "she was very young at the time." Surely a woman aged 
twenty-seven is not "very "young! With reference to the above story, 
Johnson is not likely to have said ' * every one says it is excellent, and ihey 
are right." Croker is undoubtedly just when he says, speaking of her 
novels, ' ' they owed a great deal of their extraordinary success to the 
strange misrepresentation that had been somehow made, of the author's 
being ten years younger than she really was." — Ed. 



Z 2 



340 



Thomas Chatterton, 
1752-1770. 

He must rank as an universal genius, above Dry den, and per- 
haps only second to Shakspeare. — Dr, Gregory. 
A prodigy of genius. — Wartoi, 

The greatest genius England has produced since the days of 
Shakspeare. — Maloic, 

My memory does not supply me with any human being who, 
at such an age, with such disadvantages, has produced such 
compositions. Under the heathen mythology, superstition and 
admiration would ha\-e explained all by bringing Apollo on 
earth ; nor would the god e\'er have descended with more 
credit to himself. — Croft, 

Insignificant as it may seem, the determination of this ques- 
tion (/>., the authenticity of the Rowley poems) aftects the 
great lines of the history of poetry, and even of general 
literature. If it should at last be decided that these poems 
were really written so early as the reign of King Edward IV., 
the entire system that hath been framed concerning the pre- 
possession of poetical composition, and every theory that has 
been established on the gradual improvement of taste, style, 
and language, will be shaken and disarranged. — Dr. Warto7i. 

I interrogated him as to the object of his views and expecta- 
tions, and what mode of life he intended to pursue on his 
arrival in London. His answer was remarkable. " My first 
attempt," said he, " shall be in the literary way ; the promises 
I have received are sufficient to dispel doubt ; but should I, 
contrary to my expectation, find myself deceived, I will in that 
case, turn Methodist preacher. Credulity is as potent a deity 
as ever, and a new sect may easily be devised. But if that 
too should fail me, my last and final resource is a pistol." — 
TJiistlctJnuaite. 

His person, like his genius, was premature. He had a man- 
liness and dignity beyond his years, and there was something 
about him uncommonly prepossessing. His most remarkable 
feature w^as his eyes, w^hich though grey, were uncommonly 
piercing. When he was w^armed in argument or otherwise they 
sparkled w^ith fire ; and one eye it is said, w^as still more re- 
markable than the other. — Dr. Andersofi. 

Nothing in Chatterton can be separated from Chatterton. 



Thomas Chatterion. 



341 



His noblest flights, his sweetest strains, his grossest ribaldry, 
and his most commonplace imitations of the productions of 
magazines, were all the effervescences of the same ungovern- 
able impulse, which cameleon-like, imbibed the colours of all 
it looked on. It was Ossian, or a Saxon monk, or Gray, or 
Smollett, or Junius ; and if it failed most in what it affected 
most, to be a poet of the fifteenth century, it was because it 
could not imitate what had not existed. — Lord Orford} 

Chatterton's was a genius like that of Homer and Shakspeare, 
which appears not above once in many centuries. — Vicesimus 
Knox, 

Mad, / think. — Byron. 

This is the most extraordinary young man that has en- 
countered my knowledge. It is wonderful how the whelp has 
written such things. — -Johnson. 

The young-ey'd Poesy 

All deftly masked as hoar antiquity. — Coleridge. 

Sweet harper of time-shrouded minstrelsy. — Ibid. 

All think now Chatterton is dead his works are worth pre- 
serving \ yet no one when he was alive would keep the bard 
from starving. — Rolliad, 1785. 

He set himself to the work of filling a magazine with Saxon 
poems — counterparts of those of Ossian, as like his as any of 
his misty stars is to another. — Wordsworth. 

The boy whom once patrician pens adorn'd. 
First meanly flatter'd, then as meanly scorn'd. — Matthias. 
In Severn's vale, a wan and moonstruck boy 
Sought by the daisy's side a pensive joy ; 
Held converse with the sea-birds as they passed. 
And strange and dire communion with the blast ; 



^ In some letters of Walpole, printed in Miss Berry's " Correspondence," 
further allusion is made to Chatterton: '*He was too young," writes 
Walpole, and had too much parts, to have attained that summit of anti- 
quarian excellence, the dull accuracy of dates, and consequently his forgeries 
were ill-adapted to the barbarous style and narrow discoveries o£ the dark 
ages for which he pretended to model his discoveries. He attributed 
beautiful imagery to monks who had no imagination, and antedated arts by 
whole centuries, in which ingenious discoveries would have been imputed to 
magic sooner than to genius." This learned fluency comes readily enough 
^^^(1794); but it makes his previous credulity appear somewhat con- 
temptible, as he makes no reference to Gray, or Warton, or Mason, who 
were all the real illuminators of his ignorance. — Ed. 



342 TJwmas Cliattcrton — William Roscoe. 



And read in sunbeams and the starry sky 

The golden language of eternity. 

Age saw him and looked sad ; the young men smiled, 

And wondering maidens shunn'd his aspect wild \ 

But He — the ever kind, the ever wise, 

Who sees through flite with omnipresent eyes, 

Hid from the mother while she bless'd her son 

The woes of genius and of Chatterton. — E, Elliott. 

Ah ! why for genius' headstrong rage 
Did virtue's hand no curb prepare ? 

What boots, poor youth, that now thy page 
Can boast the public praise to share — 

The learn'd in deep research engage, 

And lightly entertain the gentle fair?—/. Scott. 

William Roscoc. 

Mr. Roscoe is, I think, by far the best of our historians, 
both for beauty of style, and for deep reflections ; and his 
translations of poetry are equal to the originals. — Lord Orford. 

The Muses, starting from their trance, revive, 

And, at their Roscoe's bidding, wake and live. — Matthias} 

You have thrown the clearest and fullest light upon a period 
most interesting to every scholar. You have produced much 
that was unknown, and to that which was kno\vn you have 
given order, perspicuity, and grace. You have shown the 
greatest diligence in your researches, and the purest taste in 
your selection ; and upon the characters and events which 
passed in review before your inquisitive and discriminating 
mind, you have united a sagacity of observation with correct- 
ness, elegance, and \igour of style. — Dr, Farr. 

Nature had done much for him, but he did more for himself. 



^ "Mr. Matthias was a man of small stature, of fine intelligent features, 
but of a sarcastic expression. Had he been more attenuated, more 
animated, yet somewhat paler and more thoughtful, his eyes larger and 
more fit for reserving light to flash out in the excitement of animated con- 
versation, he might be said to resemble Lamennais." Of this portrait (by 
Dr. Madden) of a man once celebrated for a poem called " The Pursuits of 
Literature," the reader must make what he can. — Ed. 



William Roscoe, 



343 



He never abused her gifts ; he employed them with a gratitude, 
a devotion, an unwearied strength and labour, and dispensed 
their fruits with lavish hand, in a love of mankind which ceased 
only with his being on earth. — T. Roscoe, 

He writes in an easier style (though not without affectation), 
and is more decent in his narrative, than Gibbon ; still he is 
of that school, and appears to have taken him for his model, 
so fine a thing it seems to our present compilers of history to 
have and to profess to have no religion. As to politics, he 
outruns his original, and is for liberty in its widest range, or 
what the French call Jacobinical. But what then ? The 
abundant crop of orators, statesmen, and heroes that spring up 
in a (mob) government, such as that of Florence and of Athens, 
the study of the fine arts, and a paganized or atheistic philo- 
sophy, are to make amends for all further defects, and to put us 
out of conceit with order, plain sense, and Christianity. — Dr. 
Ifurd. 

The sensation caused by the life of the great prince merchant 
of Tuscany^ suddenly a^ppearing to enlighten the literary 
hemisphere is still remembered by many. Criticism was dumb, 
men had only time to be gratified ; and at a period when the 
dignity of the senate, even of its Lower Chamber, never allowed 
any allusion to contemporary productions of the press, a peer 
(the late Marquis of Lansdowne), who had twice been minister, 
and was still a great party chief, begged their lordships to 
devote as much time as they might be able to spare from 
" Lorenzo de' Medici" to the study of an important state affair. 
—Lord Brougham. 

Twenty years and five have flown since we walked among the 
alleys green" of Allerton, with William Roscoe the elder ; and 
who ever conversed with him for a few hours in and about his 
own home, where the stream of hfe flowed on so full and clear, 
without carrying away impressions that never seemed to become 
remembrances ! So vivid had they remained amidst the obscu- 
rations and obliterations of time that sweeps with its wings all 
that lies on the surface of the soul, but has no power to disturb, 
much less destroy, the records printed on the heart's 'core — 
imperishable even here, and hereafter to be brightened, we be- 
lieve, into a splendour far exceeding what could have belonged 
to them in this fluctuating fife ! — Blackwood's Magazine^ 1S35. 



^ Roscoe's '^Life of Lorenzo de' Medici." 



344 



Elizabeth Inchbald. 
1753-1821. 

DESCRIPTION OF ME. 

Age — Between 30 and 40, which, in the register of a lady's 

birth, means a little turned of 30. 
Height — Above the middle size and rather tall. 
Figure — Handsome and striking in its general air, but a little 

too stiff and erect. 
Shape — Rather too fond of sharp angles. 
Skin — By nature fair, thougli a little freckled, and with a 

tinge of sand, whicli is the colour of her eyelashes, 

but made coarse by ill treatment upon her cheeks 

and arms. 

Bosom — None ; or so diminutive that it's like a needle in a 
bottle of hay. 

Hair — Of a sandy auburn, and rather too straight as well as 
thin. 

Face — Beautiful in effect and beautiful in ever)^ feature. 

Countenance — Full of spirit and sweetness ; excessively 
interesting, and, without indelicacy, volup- 
tuous. 

Dress — Alwa}'S becoming ; and very seldom worth so much as 

eightpence. — Afrs. Ifichbald} 
I cannot pay you a compliment in verse too high for what I 
truly think of you in prose .... you must receive esteem 
instead of flattery, and sincerity for wit, when I swear there is 
no WOMAN I more truly admire, nor any man whose abilities I 
more trul)^ esteem. — J, P, Kemble. 

Eliza, when with female art. 

You seem to shun and yet pursue. 
You act a false, a soul-less part. 

Unworthy love, unworthy you. 
Reluctance kills the rising bliss ; 

Half granted favours I disdain ; 
The honey'd Hps that I would kiss 
Are gall, unless they kiss again. 



^ I give this description of herself to Mrs. Inchbald, because, though the 
epitome of her beauties was drawn up by a friend, she endorsed with her 
name the paper on which it was written. — Ed. 



Elizabeth Inchbald, 



345 



No passive love, that silent takes 

All I can give without return ; 
Be mine the frame that passion shakes, 

The liquid eye, the lips that burn. 

Desires that mantle in the face, 

Wishes that wait not to be won : 
The living, dying, rapt embrace — 

Give those delights, or give menone.— Z^r. Wolcot» 

I have just been reading for the third— I believe for the 
fourth time — the " Simple Story." Its effects upon my feelings 
were as powerful as at the first reading ; I never read a/iy novel 
—I except nojie — I never read any novel that affected me so 
strongly, or that so completely possessed me with the beHef in 
the real existence of all the people it represents. I never 
once recollected the author whilst I was reading it ; never said 
or thought thafs a jifie se7itiment — or that is well expressed — or 
that is well invented, I believed all to be real. — Maria 
Edgeworth, 

The Simple Story," two-thirds of it at least, is superior, in 
truth of delineation and strength of character, to Maria's or 
any other writing. — R, L, Edgeworth, 

Her conversation was easy and animated. Her curiosity was 
not such as is (blasphemously) imputed to her sex. Yet she 
was inquisitive. Never did an antiquated matron trace a tale 
of scandal through all its meanders of authority with more 
undeviating eagerness than our heroine hunted out a new 
source of useful information. Her school was society : to 
which she gratefully returned as an instructress what she had 
gathered as a scholar. Her passion was the contemplation of 
superior excellence ; and though her personal charms secured 
her admirers which flattered her as a woman, she preferred the 
homage of the mind in her higher character of a woman of 
genius. — Charles Moore. 

To those who remember her in private she seemed to possess 
many of the qualities of Swift : like the Dean, she told a story 
in an admirable manner; she absolutely painted while she 
spoke, and her language started into life. Her sentences, like 
his, were short and perspicuous; her observations piercing. 
She too had seen much of the world, and had profited from the 
experience. She had not the least tincture of vanity in her 
conversation, and in truth was too proud to be vain. She was 



346 



Elizahctlt IncJihald — George Crahbe. 



decidedly polite, but in a manner entirely her own. — yanics 
Boadcn} 

I called with Mrs. H and Amelia on Mrs. Inchbald. 

I like her vastly; she seems so clever and interesting. — Eliza- 
beth Fry. 

George Crabbe. 
1754-1S32. 

His noble forehead, his l)right beaming eye, without any- 
thing of old age about it — though he was then, I presume, about 
seventy — his sweet, and I would say, innocent smile, and the 
calm mellow tones of his voice, all are reproduced the moment 
I open any page of his poetry ; and how much better have I 
understood and enjoyed his poetry since I was able thus to 
connect with it the living presence of the man ! — Lockhart. 

He would put off a meditated journey rather than leave a 
poor parishioner who required his services ; and from his know- 
ledge of human nature -he was able, and in a remarkable manner, 
to throw himself into the circumstances of those who needed 
his hel}) — Jio sympathy was like his. — Chambers, 

True bard ! and simple as the race 
Of true-born poets ever are. — Moore, 

I do not doubt of Mr. Crabbe's success. — Dr. yohnsoji. 

I consider Crabbe and Coleridge as the first of these times in 
point of genius. — Byron. 

Crabbe is always an instructive and forceful, almost always 
even an interesting \mter. His works have an imperishable 
value as records of his time ; and it even may be said that few 
parts of them but would have found an appropriate place in 
some of the reports of our various commissions for inquiring 
into the state of the country. Observation, prudence, acute- 
ness, uprightness, self-balancing vigour of mind are everywhere 
seen, and are exerted on the whole wide field of common life. 
All that is wanting is the enthusiastic sympathy, the jubilant 



^ Boaden, the author of the ' Life of Kemble,' * Mrs. Siddons,' * Mrs. 
Inchbald,' &c., was rhe editor of the Oracle, and a celebrated dramatic critic. 
He was enthusiastically devoted to the Kemble family, and on terms of 
intimacy with 'glorious John. ' — ''''Memoirs of Charles Mathews.''^ 



George Crabbe. 



347 



love, whose utterance is melody, and without which all art is 
little better than a laborious ploughing of the land, and then 
sowing the land itself for seed along the fruitless furrow. — 
Quarterly Review, 

George Crabbe was not merely a poet, but a poet who had 
the sagacity to see into the real state of things and the heart to 

do his duty To him popular education, popular freedom, 

popular advance into knowledge and power, owe a debt which 
futurity will gratefully acknowledge, but no time can cancel. — • 
W. HowitL 

Truth sometimes will lend her noblest fires, 
And decorate the verse herself inspires : 
This fact in virtue's name let Crabbe attest — - 
Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best. 

Byron, 

Talking of Wordsworth, Jeffrey told Anne a story, the object 
of which, as she understood it, was to show that Crabbe had 
no imagination. Crabbe, Sir George Beaumont, and Words- 
worth were sitting together in Murray's room in Albemarle 
Street. Sir George, after sealing a letter, blew out the candle 
which had enabled him to do so, and exchanging a look with 
Wordsworth, began to admire in silence the undulating thread 
of smoke which slowly arose from the expiring wick, when 
Crabbe put on the extinguisher. — Sir W. Scott. 

He has the mind and feelings of a gentleman.— j^^/r/^^. 

The first time I met Mr. Crabbe was at Holland House, 
where he and Tom Moore and myself lounged the better part 
of a morning about the park and library ; and I can answer for 
one of the party at least being very well pleased with it. Our 
conversation, I remember, was about novelists. Your father 
was a strong Fieldingite, and I as sturdy a Smollettite. His 
mildness in literary argument struck me with surprise in so 
stern a poet of nature, and I could not but contrast the unas- 
sumingness of his manners with the originality of his powers. 
In what may be called the ready-money small-talk of conversa- 
tion, his facihty might not perhaps seem equal to the -known 
calibre of his talents ; but in the progress of conversation I 
recollect remarking that there was a vigilant shrewdness that 
almost eluded you by keeping its watch so quietly. Though 
an oldish man when I saw him, he was not a laudator tern- 
pris acti^' but a decided lover of later times. — Thomas 
Ca77iphell. 



34S George Crahbe — Williavi Godunn, 



You ask me of Crabbe's ''Tales of the Hall?" What shall 
I say of his merits, when I begin by confessing that his very 
faults delight me ? All his quaintness, his elaborate minuteness, 
and his oddities of style, come to my sight like the moles and 
freckles in a dear friend's face which I should be sorry to see 
removed. — Mrs. Grant's Letters^ 

Teniers, Hogarth, A\'ilkic — each of them in his own art is a 
great master too ; but in conception, in comprehension, and in 
breadth and depth of colouring, Crabbe was greater than them 
all three — could you conceive them all three in one ; and then 
what is painting compared to poetry? — Blackwood, 1834. 

Crabbe takes his hideous mistress in his amis, and she 
rewards hun wuh her confidence by telling him all her dreadful 
secrets. The severity of his style is an accident belonging not 
to him, but to the majesty of his unpamlleled subject. Hence 
it is that the unhappy peo])le of the United States of America 
cannot bear to read Crabbe. They think him unnatural, and 
he is so to them, for in their wretched country cottagers are not 
])aupers — marriage is not synon)'mous with misery. — Ebaiczcr 
Elliott. 

William Godwin. 
1756-1836. 

Mr. Coleridge, in writing an harmonious stanza, would stop 
to consider whether there was not more gTace and beauty in 
a pas dc trois, and would not proceed till he had resolved this 
question by a chain of metaphysical reasoning without end. 
Not so Mr. Godwin. That is best to him which he can do 
best. He does not waste himself in vain aspirations and effemi- 
nate sympathies. He is blind, deaf, insensible to all but the 
trump of Fame. Plays, operas, painting, music, ball-rooms, 
wealth, fashion, titles, lords, ladies, touch him not — all these 
are no more to him than to the anchorite in his cell, and he 
wites on to the end of the chapter, through good report and 
evil report. Pingo in eternitatem — is his motto. He neither 
envies nor admires what others are, but is contented to be 
what he is, and strives to do the utmost he can. Mr. Coleridge 
has flirted with the Muses as with a set of mistresses ; Mr. God- 
win has been married twice, to Reason and to Fancy, and has 
to boast no short-lived progeny by each. So to speak, he has 



William Godzvin — William Gijford, 



349 



valves belonging to his mind to regulate the quantity of gas 
admitted into it, so that, like the bare, unsightly, but well-com- 
pacted steam-vessel, it cuts its liquid way, and arrives at its 
promised end : while Mr. Coleridge's bark, "taught with the 
little nautilus to sail/' the sport of every breath, dancing to 
every wave, 

" Youth at its prow, and Pleasure at its helm," 

flutters its gaudy pennons in the air, glitters in the sun, but we 
wait in vain to hear of its arrival in the destined harbour ! Mr. 
Godwin, with less variety and vividness, with less subtlety and 
susceptibility both of thought and feeling, has had firmer nerves, 
a more determined purpose, a more comprehensive grasp of 
his subject, and the results are as we find them. Each has met 
with his reward, for justice has, after all, been done to the pre= 
tensions of each, and we must, in all cases, use means to ends ! 
— Hazlitt, " Spirit of the Age,'' 

It is worth knowing (in order to trace the history and progress 
of the intellectual character) that the author of "Political 
Justice," and " Caleb Williams," commenced his career as a 
dissenting clergyman ; and the bookstalls sometimes present a 
volume of sermons by him, and we beHeve an English grammar. 
— Edinburgh Review^ 1830. 

I have been reading (for the little I could read) a new novel 
of Godwin's in four vols., called "The Travels of St. Leon." It 
is an odd work, Hke all his, and like all his, interesting, though 
hardly ever pleasantly so ; and while one's head often agrees 
with his observations, and sometimes with his reasoning, never 
does one's heart thoroughly agree with his sentiments on any 
subject or on any character. He now allows that the social 
affections may be cultivated to advantage in human life, and 
upon this plan his present novel is formed. I should tell you, 
which I know from Edwards, that it was written for bread, 
agreed for by the booksellers beforehand, and actually com- 
posed and written as the printers wanted it. — Miss Berrfs 
" Correspondence'^ 

William GifFord. 
1757-1826. 

-'Looking through a number of the Quarterly Review one 
day at Brooks's, soon after its first appearance, Sheridan said, in 



350 



Wz//iam Gijford, 



reply to a gentleman who observed that the editor, Mr. Gifford, 
had boasted of the power of conferring and distributing literary 
reputation, " Very likely ; and in the present instance I think 
he has done it so profusely as to leave none for himself." — JoJui 
Timbs. 

Mr. (iifford is not only the first satirist of the day, but editor 
of one of the principal Reviews/ — Bynvi. 

Called upon Gifford, editor of the Quarterly^ have known 
him long, but forbore from calling on him ever since I medi- 
tated Lalla Rookh," lest it might look like trying to pro- 
pitiate his criticism. The mildest man in the world until he 
takes a pen in his hand, but then all gall and bitterness. — 
Thomas ^foorc\ 

I observe in the papers my old friend Gifford's funeral. He 
was a man of rare attainments and many excellent qualities. 
His Juvenal is one of the best versions ever made of a classical 
author, and his satire of the Baviad and Maiviad squabashed 
at one blow a set of coxcombs who might have humbugged the 
world long enough. As a commentator he was capital, 
could he but have suppressed his rancours against those who 
had preceded him in the task ; but a misconstruction or a mis- 
interpretation, nay, the misplacing of a comma, was, in 
Gifford's eyes, a crime worthy of the most severe animadversion. 
The same fault of extreme severity w^ent through his critical 
labours, and in general he flagellated with so little pity, that 
people lost their sense of the criminal's guilt in dislike of the 
savage pleasure which the executioner seemed to take in 
inflicting the punishment. This lack of temper probably^arose 
from indifferent health, for he was very valetudinary, and 
realized two verses wherein he says Fortune assigned him— 

One eye not over good. 
Two sides that to their cost have stood 



^ This is as good as Pope's famous 

Blest as thou art ^^^th all the power of words, 
So lov'd, so honour'd in the House of Lords." 

Elsewhere Byron writes, "Jeffrey and Gifford I take to be the monarch- 
makers in prose and poetr}'." Here we probably have the secret of his 
admiration for a man whose satires are duller than ShadwelPs, and whose 
judgment was such that had Byron adopted it, some of the noblest passages 
in the poet's finest compositions would have been struck out. — Ed. 



William Gifford — Robert Burns. 



351 



A ten years' hectic cough ; 
Aches, stitches, all the various ills 
That swell the deviHsh doctor's bills, 

And sweep poor mortals off." 

But he might also justly claim as his gift the moral qualities 
expressed in the next fine stanza — 

" A soul 

That spurns the crowd's malign control, 

A firm contempt of wrong ; 
Spirits above affliction's power, 
And skill to soothe the lingering hour 

With no inglorious wrong." 

He was a little man, dumpled up together, and so ill made 
as to seem almost deformed, but with a singular expression of 
talent in his countenance. Though so little of an athlete he 
nevertheless beat off Dr. Wolcot, when that celebrated person, 
the most unsparing calumniator of his time, chose to be offended 
with Gifford for satirizing him in his turn. Peter Pindar made 
a most vehement attack, but Gifford had the best of the affray, 
and I think remained in triumphant possession of the field of 
action and of the assailant's cane. G. had one singular 
custom. He used always to have a duenna of a housekeeper 
to sit in his study with him while he wrote. This female com- 
panion died when I was in London, and his distress was 
extreme. I afterwards heard he got her place supplied. I 
believe there was no scandal in all this. — Sir W. Scott. 

Mr. Gifford, who considered as a poet, was merely Pope 
without Pope's wit and fancy, and whose satires are decidedly 
inferior in vigour and poignancy to the very imperfect juvenile 
performance of Lord Byron. — Macaiday, 



Robert Burns. 
1759-1796. 

In conversation he was powerful. His conceptions and ex- 
pressions were of corresponding vigour, and on all subjects 
were as remote as possible from commonplaces. — Professor 
Walker, 

I was bred to the plough, and am independent. — Burns, 



352 



Robert Burns, 



What poet now shall tread 
Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign, 
Since he, the sweetest bard, is dead 
That ever breath'd the soothing strain ? — Roscoe, 

The rank of Bums is the very first of his art. — Byron. 

I despair of meeting with any Englishman who will take the 
pains that I have taken to understand him. His candle is 
bright, but shut up in a dark lantern. — Coicpcr. 

Robert Burns was wholly unskilled in music ; yet the rare 
art of adajning words successfully to notes, of wedding verse 
in congenial unity with melody which, were it not for his ex- 
ample, I should say none but a poet versed in the sister-art 
ought to attempt, has yet by him, with the aid of a music to 
which my own country's strains are alone comparable, been 
exercised with so workmanly a hand, and with so rich a variety 
of passion, ])layfulness, and power, as no song-writer perhaps 
but himself has ever yet displayed. — Thomas Moore, 

Him in his clay-built cot, the muse 

Entranc'd, and show'd him all the forms 

Of fairy light and ^\^zard gloom 

(That only gifted poet views), 

The Genii of the floods and storms, 

And martial shades from Glory*s iomh.—Campben. 

Ghost of Meecenas ! hide thy blushing face ! 

They snatch'd him from the sickle and the plough 

To gauge ale-firkins ! — Coleridge. 

Robert Bums has indited many songs that slip into the heart, 
just like light, no one knows how, filling its chambers sweetly 
and silently, and leaving it nothing more to desire for perfect 
contentment. Or let us say, sometimes when he sings, it is 
like listening to a linnet in the broom, a blackbird in the brake, 
or laverock in the sky. They sing in the fulness of their joy 
as nature teaches them, — and so did he; and the man, woman, 
or child, who is delighted not \nth such singing, be their virtues 
what they may, must never hope to be in heaven. — Professor 
Wilson. 

In Scotia's choir 
Of minstrels great and small, 
He sprang, from his spontaneous fire. 
The PhcenLx of them dXl.— James Montgomery, 



Robert Btirns. 



353 



His person was strong and robust, his manners rustic, not 
clownish ; a sort of dignified plainness and simplicity, which 
received part of its effect perhaps from one's knowledge of his 
extraordinary talents. His features are represented in Mr. 
Nasmyth's picture, but to me it conveys the idea that they are 
diminished, as if seen in perspective. I think his countenance 
was more massive than it looks in any of the portraits. I 
would have taken the poet, had I not known what he was, for 
a very sagacious country farmer of the old Scotch school — i.e.y 
none of your modern agriculturists, who keep labourers for 
their drudgery, but the douce giideman who held his own plough. 
There was a strong expression of sense and shrewdness in all 
his lineaments ; the eye alone, I think, indicated the poetical 
temperament. It was large and of a dark cast, and glowed (I 
say literally glowed) when he spoke with feeling or interest. 
I never saw such another eye in a human head, though I have 
seen the most distinguished men in my time. His conversation 
expressed perfect self-confidence without the slightest presump- 
tion. — Sir Walter Scott, 

The world are agreed about the character and genius of 
Burns. None but the most narrow-minded bigots think of his 
errors and frailties but with sympathy and indulgence ; none 
but the blindest enthusiasts can deny their existence. It is 
very possible that his biographers and critics may have occasion- 
ally used epithets and expressions too peremptory and decisive ; 
but on the whole, the character of the bard has had ample 
justice. There is no need for any one nowadays to say what 
Burns w^as, or what he was not. This he has himself told us a 
hundred times in immortal language ; and the following most 
pathetic and sublime stanza ought to silence both his friends 
and his enemies — if enemies there can indeed be to a man so 
nobly endowed. For while with proud consciousness he there 
glories in the virtues which God had bestowed on him, there 
does he with compunctious visitings of nature own, in prostra- 
tion of spirit, that the light which led him astray was not always 
light from Heaven : — 

The poor inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn and wise to know, 

And keenly felt the friendly glow 
And softer flame ; 

But thoughtless follies laid him low, 
^ And stained his XidxaQ,— James Hogg. 



354 



Robert Burns — Richard Porsou. 



O he was a good-looking fine fellow ! — he was tliat ; rather 
black an' ill coloured ; but he couldna help that, ye ken. He 
was a strong manly looking chap ; nane o' your shilpit milk- 
and-water dandies, but a sterling substantial fallow, who wadna 
hae feared the deil suppose he had met him. An' then siccan 
an CO he had ! Aince an he got a wee bousy I never saw sic 
an ee in a head !" — Saunders Proudfoot^ quoted in Memoir of 
Burns;' 1S36. 

With men of upright feeling we are not required to plead 
for Burns. In pitying admiration he lies enshrined in all our 
hearts in a f:\r nobler mausoleum than that of marble ; neither 
will his works, even as they are, i)ass away from the memory of 
man. AN'hile the Shakspeares and Miltons roll on like mighty 
rivers through the country of thought, bearing lleets of trathckers 
and assiduous j)earl-fishers on their waves, this little Valchesa j 
fountain will also arrest our eye; for this also is of nature's own \ 
and most cunning workmanship, and bursts from the depths of 
the earth with a full gushing current into the light of day ; and 
often will the traveller turn aside to drink of its pure waters and , 
muse among its rocks an^l pines. — Thomas Carlyle. j 

Richard Person. 
1759-1S08. 

His head was remarkably fine ; an expansive forehead, over 
which was smoothly combed (when in dress) his shining brown 
hair. His nose was Roman, with a keen and penetrating eye, ; 
shaded with long lashes. His mouth was full of expression, 
and altogether his countenance indicated deep thought. His 1 
stature was nearly six feet. He was fond of reciting favourite 
passages from Shakspeare. 'J^he fine intonations of a melodious I 
voice, and the varied expression of his features on these occa- 
sions, were admirable. — Gordon^ quoted by Chambers. 

I remember to have seen Porson at Cambridge in the hall of 
our college, and in private parties ; and I can never recollect 
him except as drunk or brutal, and generally both — I mean in 
an evening ; for in the hall he dined at the Dean's table, and I 
at the vice-master's, and he then and there appeared sober in 
his demeanour; but I have seen him in a private party of under- 
graduates take up a poker to them, and heard him use language 
as blackguard as his action. Of all the disgusting brutes, 



Richard Porson. 



355 



sulky, abusive, and intolerable, Porson was the most bestial, 
as far as the few times I saw him went. He was tolerated in 
this state among the young men for his talents ; as the Turks 
think a madman inspired and bear with him. He used to 
recite or rather vomit pages of all languages, and could hiccup 
Greek like a Helot ; and certainly Sparta never shocked her 
children with a grosser exhibition than this man's intoxication.— 

While Pitt was in power, the greatest philologist of the age, 
his own contemporary at Cambridge, was reduced to earn a 
livelihood by the lowest literary drudgery, and to spend in 
writing squibs for the Morning Chronicle years to which we 
might have owed an all but perfect text of the whole tragic and 
comic drama of Athens. — Macaiday. 

When Porson dined with me I used to keep him within bounds, 
but I frequently met him at various houses where he got com- 
pletely drunk. He would not scruple to return to the dining- 
room, after the company had left it, pour into a tumbler the 
drops remaining in the wine-glasses, and drink off the omnium 
gatherum. — Sam. Rogers. 

Porson would drink ink rather than not drink at all. — Home 
Tooke. 

Mr. Porson .... is a giant in literature, a prodigy in intellect, 
a critic whose mighty achievements leave imitation panting at 
a distance behind them, and whose stupendous powers strike 
down all the restless and aspiring suggestions of rivalry into 
silent admiration and passive awe. — Fa^^r. 

I was once or twice in company with Porson at College. 
His gift was a surprising memory ; he appeared to me a mere 
linguist, without any original powers of mind. He was vain, 
petulant, arrogant, overbearing, rough, and vulgar. He was a 
great Greek scholar; but this was a department which very few 
much cultivated, and in which therefore he had few competitors. 
What are the extraordinary productions he has left to posterity ? 
Where is the proof that he has left of energetic sentiments, of 
deep sagacity, of powerful reasoning, or of high eloquence ? 
Admit that he has shown acuteness in verbal criticism and 
verbal emendation j what is that ? He was one of those men 
whose eccentricities excited a false notice. The fame of his 
erudition blinded and dazzled the public. — Sir Egerton Brydges, 

I was at first greatly struck with the acuteness of his under- 
standing and his multifarious acquaintance with every branch 

AA 2 



356 Richard P or son — Willimn Bcckford. 



of polite literature and classical attainments. I also found him 
extremely modest and humble, and not vain-glorious of his 
astonishing erudition and capacity. I was not less struck with 
his memor}'. Taking tea one afternoon in his company at 
Dockerell's coftee-house, I read a pamphlet written by Ritson 
against Tom AVarton. I was pleased with the work, and after 
I had read it I gave it to Porson, who began it, and I left him 
perusing it. On the ensuing day he drank tea with me, with 
several other friends, and the conversation happened to turn 
on Ritson's i)amphlet. I alluded to one particular part about 
Shakspeare, which had greatly interested me, adding, to those 
who had not read it, I wish I could convey to you a specific 
idea of the remainder. Porson repeated a page and a half, word 
for word. I expressed my surprise and said, I suppose you 
studied the whole evening at the coftee-house and got it by 
heart?" "Not at all; I do assure you that I only read it 
once." — " Life of Archdeacon CoxcT 

William Beckford. 
1 760-1S44. 

Vathek " was one of the tales I had a very early admira- 
tion of For correctness of costume, beauty of description, 
and power of imagination, it far surpasses all European imita- 
tions, and bears such marks of originality that those who have 
visited the East will find some difficulty in believing it to be 
more than a translation. — Byro?i} 

(Rogers) told me that Beckford {the Beckford) is delighted 
with Lalla Rookh heard so from Beckford himself in the 
spring, when I met him at Rogers's in town, and he was all I 



^ B>Ton also alludes to Beckford in the first canto of *^ Childe Harold :" 

" On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, 

Are domes where whilome Kings did make repair, 

But now the wild flowers round them only breathe ; 

Yet ruin'd splendour still is lingering there. 

And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair ; 

There thou, too, Vathek I England's wealthiest son, 

Once form'd thy Paradise, as not aware 

When wanton wealth her mightiest deeds has done, 

Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun. '' 



William Beckford. 



3S7 



raptures about it. Beckford wishes me to go to Fonthill with 
R., anxious that I should look over his " Travels " (which were 
printed some years ago, but afterwards suppressed by him), 
and prepare them for the press. Rogers supposes he would 
give me something magnificent for it — a thousand pounds, 
perhaps ; but if he were to give me a hundred times that sum 
I would not have my name coupled with his. To be Beckford's 
sub not very desirable. — T, Moore, 

He is a poet, and a great one too, though we know not that 
he ever wrote a line of verse. — Qiim^terly Revieiv. 

William Beckford, the only legitimate son of the '^patriot 
Lord Mayor," had come of age at the end of September to 
find himself master of a million in ready money and a hundred 
thousand a year. The haughty spirit and fiery blood of the 
old Jamaica planters, transmitted through the proud Lord 
Mayor, who recognised a kindred spirit in Chatham, and dared 
to beard a king to his face, had been stimulated in the young 
millionaire by the indulgence of a doting mother, and un- 
checked by the wholesome discipline of a public school. Young 
Beckford, educated at home for five years under his mother's 
eye, had been taught to think himself lord and master of all 
about him. His quick wit and sensitive organization had been 
stimulated by wide and desultory reading, and early familiarity 
with the works of art and virtu which crowded Fonthill, even 
when his father left it. He had completed his education at 
Geneva, and spent the last three years of his minority in 
travelling through Switzerland, the Low Countries, Germiany, 
and Italy. Travelling in splendour and luxury, even as a ward 
in Chancery, and indulging his fancies and fine tastes unchecked 
and uncontrolled, proud, refined, of febrile energy, full of pas- 
sion for art, and with no respect for men, he delighted to let 
his imagination run riot in dreams of more than Eastern wild- 
ness. He came back from his travels and found the rank and 
fashion of London ready to receive the millionaire with open 
arms. But his sensitive intelligence saw and scorned the 
deference paid to the money, not to the man : his refined.feeling 
for art was shocked by the shallowness of EngHsh connoisseur- 
ship and the grossness of English taste \ he was too proud for the 
truckling required of a king's friend, too contemptuous to court 

popularity in opposition, too proud to follow a leader 

It was probably during this short interval between his two 
visits to the Continent that he had written the wonderful tale 



358 William Bcchford— William Lisle Boivlcs. 



of Vathek." It was composed in French, and dashed off in 
a white heat in three days and two nights of continuous 
labour. Never was a more homogeneous creation. It bears in 
every Hne an impress of audacious and weird imagination, which 
gives it a place as fiir apart from all the originals of Eastern 
romance as from the imitations of tliem. The wonder is tlie 
greater if we remember tlie time when it was written, the 
mingled decorousness and llatulence, i)omposlty and poverty 
of invention in its many Eastern tales and apologues. Compare 

Vathek " with the best of these, " Rasselas." It is like com- 
])aring a glacier with a lava-stream as it comes out of the 
burning mountain. — C, R, Leslie. 

WiUiam lieckford, Esq., son of the once celebrated alderman, 
and heir to his enormous wealth, published at the early age of 
eighteen, " Memoirs of ^Extraordinary Painters and in the 
year after the romance (" Vathek"). After sitting for liindon 
in several parliaments, this gifted person was induced to fix for 
a time his residence in Portugal, where the memory of his 
magnificence was fresh at the time of Lord Byron's pilgrimage. 
Returningto England, he realized all the outward showsof Gothic 
grandeur in his unsubstantial i)ageant of Fonthill Abbey; and 
has more recently been indulging his fcincy with another, pro- 
bably not more lasting, monument of architectural caprice, in 
the vicinity of Bath. It is much to be regretted that after a 
lapse of fifty years, Mr. Beckford's literary reputation should 
continue to rest entirely on his juvenile, however remarkable 
performances. — Note to ''Childe LLaroldy 

W^illiam Lisle Bowles.^ 
1 762-1850. 

Interrupted by Bowles, who never comes amiss ; the mixture 
of talent and simplicity in him delightful. His parsonage 
house at Brenhill is beautifully situated ; but he has a good 
deal frittered its beauty away witli grottoes, hermitages, and 
Shenstonian inscriptions. AMien company is coming he cries, 



^ Bowles is only now remembered by the stanzas of his admirers, the satire 
of Byron, and his depreciation of Pope. Of the controversy on Pope, 
famous in its day, and by no means forgotten in ours, the following charac- 
ter, showing how it commenced and how it was continued, was printed in a 
provincial journal of repute : — 



William Lisle Bozvles, 



3S9 



" Here, John, run with the crucifix and missal to the hermitage, 
and set the fountain going." His sheep-bells are tuned in 
thirds and fifths ; but he is an excellent fellow notwithstanding j 
and if the waters of his inspiration be not those of Helicon, 
they are at least very sweef waters, and to my taste pleasanter 
than some that are more strongly impregnated. — -Thomas 
Moore's Diary r 

Bowles, like most other poets, was greatly depressed by the 
harsh criticisms of the reviewers. I advised him not to mind 
them ; and eventually following my advice, he became a much 
happier man. I suggested to him the subject of the " Missionary," 
and he was to dedicate it to me. He, however, dedicated it 
to a noble lord, who never either by word or letter, acknow= 
ledged the dedication. Bowles's nervous timidity is the most 
ridiculous thing imaginable. Being passionately fond of music, 
he came to London expressly to attend the last commemora- 
tion of Handel. After going into the Abbey, he observed 
that the door was closed : immediately he ran to the door- 
keeper, exclaiming, ^'What! am I to be shut tLp here?" and 
out he went before he had heard a single note. I once bought 
a stall- ticket for him that he might accompany me to the 
opera ; but just as we were stepping into the carriage, he said, 
Dear me, your horses seem uncommonly frisky ! " and he 
stayed at home. — Sam. Rogers, 

My heart has thanked thee, Bowles ! for those soft strains 
Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring 
Of wild bees in the sunny shower of Spring ! 
For hence, not callous to the mourner's pains. 



Mr. Bowles wrote a book upon Pope. 
Mr. Campbell abused Mr. Bowles's book upon Pope. 
Mr. Bowles wrote an answer to Mr. Campbell's abuse of Mr. Bowleses 
book on Pope. 

Lord Byron wrote a letter to certain stars in Albemarle-street, in answer 
to Mr. Bowles's answer to Mr. Campbell's abuse of Mr. Bowles's book on 
Pope. 

Jeremy Bentham, Esq., wrote a letter to Lord Byron about Lord Byron's 
letter to certain stars in Albemarle-street, in answer to Mr. Bowles's answer 
to Mr. Campbell's abuse of Mr, Bowles's book on Pope. 

Mr. Bowles wrote an answer, not to Jeremy Bentham, but to Lord 
Byron's letter to certain stars in Albemarle-street, in answer to Mr. Bowles's 
answer to Mr. Campbell's abuse of Mr. Bowles's book on Pope. 

Here the controversy ended, leaving each disputant more thoroughly 
satisfied with his omi judgment. — Ed, 



William Lisle Bozules — Joanna Baillie, 



Through youth's gay prime and tliornless paths I went \ 

And when the darker day of Hfe began, 

And I did roam a thought-bewilder'd man, 

Their mild and manUest melancholy lent 

A mingled charm, which oft the pang consigned 

'Jo slumber, though the big tear it renewed ; 

Bidding such strange mysterious pleasure brood 

Over the wavy and tumultuous mind, 

As made the soul enamoured of her woe : 

No common praise to thee, dear bard, I owe. — Coleridge. 

Hail Sympathy ! the soft idea brings 

A thousand visions of a thousand things, 

And shows still whimpering through threescore of years 

The maudlin prince of mournful sonneteers. 

And art thou not their prince, harmonious Bowles ? 

Thou first great oracle of tender souls I 

Whether thou sing'st with equal ease and grief 

The fall of empires, or a yellow leaf; 

Whether thy muse most lamentably tells 

What merry sounds proceed from Oxford bells ; 

Or still in bells delighting, finds a friend 

In every chime that jingles from Ostend ; 

Ah ! how much juster were thy muse's hap, 

If to thy bells thou wouldst but add a cap ! — Byron, 

Joanna Baillie. 
1762-1851. 

In that entire and wonderful revolution of the public taste in 
works of imagination, and indeed of literature generally, which 
contrasts this century with the whole or latter half of the pre- 
ceding, and which — while referring to Cowper and not forget- 
ting Lewesdon Hall,"^ or Mr. Bowles's first t\vo or three 
publications — we must nevertheless principally and in the forc- 



^ ^'Lewesdon Hall,"' highly esteemed in its day, was the composition ot 
one Crowe, of whom Dr. Parr, in reply to the question how he Hked him, 
said, Madam, I love him ; he is the veiy brandy of genius mixed with the 
stinking water of absurdity." Sam. Rogers also entertained a high opinion 
of him. See ' ' Table Talk. "—Ed. 



yoanna Baillie, 



most rank, ascribe to the example, the arguments, and the 
influence of Wordsworth and Coleridge— in this great move- 
ment Joanna Baillie bore a subordinate but most useful and 
effective part. Unversed in the ancient languages and literature, 
by no means accomplished in those of her own age, or even 
her own country, this remarkable woman owed it partly to the 
simplicity of a Scotch education, partly to the influence of the 
better part of Burns's poetry, but chiefly to the spontaneous 
action of her own forceful genius, that she was able at once, 
and apparently without effort, to come forth, the mistress of a 
masculine style of thought and diction, which constituted then, 
as it constitutes now, the characteristic merit of her writings, 
and which, at the time, contributed most beneficially to the 
already commenced reformation of the literary principles of the 
century. — Qtcarterly Review. 

However different and inferior in degree, her mind resembles 
Shakspeare's in kind. She plans her characters deliberately : 
she executes them with undeviating consistency ; her pictures 
of passion are all leavened and penetrated by general and 

elevated reflection Comprehension and grasp of mind 

are qualities which we involuntarily associate with all her works \ 
and it is indeed singular that this quality, so seldom found in 
connexion with even the best works of the best female writers, 
should be thus conspicuous in the works of a woman, when 
its presence is so rare in those of her male competitors. — Edin- 
burgh Review^ 1836. 

The seriousness, simplicity, and thoughtfulness of Joanna's 
manners overawe you from talking commonplace to her ; and 
as for pretension or talking fine, you would as soon think 
of giving yourself airs before an apostle. She is mild and placid, 
but makes no effort either to please or to shine j she will neither 
dazzle or be dazzled, yet, like others of the higher class of 
mind, is very indulgent in her opinions : what passes before her 
seems rather food for thought than mere amusement. In short, 
she is not merely a woman of talent, but of genius, which is a 
very different thing, and very unlike any other thing ; which is 
the reason I have taken so much pains to describe her. — M^^s, 
Granfs ''Letters:' 

Her tragedies have a boldness and grasp of mind, a firmness 
of hand, and resonance of cadence that scarcely seem within the 
reach of a female writer j whilst the tenderness and sweetness 
of her heroines — the grace of the love-scenes, and the trembling 



362 



y omnia BaiUic. 



outgushings of sensibility, as in ^' Orra," for instance, in the fine 
tragedy of Fear," would seem exclusively feminine if we did 
not know that a true dramatist — as Shaksi)eare or Fletcher — 
has the wonderful i)o\ver of throwing himself, mind and body, 
into the character that he portrays. That Mrs. Joanna is a 
true dramatist, as well as a great poet, I, for one, can never 
doubt.— J/. R. MitfonL 

I well remember when her plays upon the Passions hrst 
came out, with a metaphysical preface. AH the world wondered 
and stared at me, who pronounced them the work of a woman, 
although the remark was made every day and everywhere that 
it was a masculine performance. No sooner, however, did an 
unknown girl own the work than the value so fell, her book- 
sellers complained that they could not get paid for what they 
(lid, nor did their merits ever again swell the throat of public 
ai)plause. — Mrs. Fiozzi. 

The powerful dramatic writer, the graceful and witty lyrist, and 

the sweet and gentle woman Had the lambent flame 

of genius not burned in the breast of Joanna Baillie, that of a 
l)ure piety, and a spirit made to estimate the blessings of life 
and to enjoy all the other blessings of peace and social good 
which it brings, would have still burned brightly in her bosom, 
and made her just as happy, though not as great — IV. 
Hountf. 

Ballantyne adds : — One day, about the same time, when 
his fame was supposed to have reached its acme, I said to him, 
* Will you excuse me, ]Mr. Scott, but I should Hke to ask you 
what you think of your own genius as a poet in comparison 
with Burns ?' He replied, ' There is no comparison whatever, 
we ought not to be named in the same day.' ^ Indeed !' I 
answered. ^ Would you compare Campbell to Bums ?' * No, 
James, not at all. If you wish to speak of a real poet, Joanna 
Baillie is now the highest genius of our country.' " — Lockharfs 
" Life of Scoti.'' 

Woman (saving Joanna Baillie) cannot ^^Tite tragedy. — 
Byron. 

Do you remember my speaking to you in high terms of a 
series of plays upon the passions of the human mind, which had 
been sent to me last winter by the author ? I talked to everybody 
else in the same terms of them at the time, anxiously inquiring 
for the author, but nobody knew them, nobody cared for them, 
nobody would listen to me ; and at last I unwillingly held my 



Joanna Baillie — William Cohhett, 363 



tongue This winter the first question upon everybody's 

lips is, " Have you read the new plays ?" Everybody talks in 
the raptures (I always thought they deserved) of the tragedies 
and of the introduction, as of a new and admirable piece of 
criticism. Sir G. Beaumont, who was with me yesterday, said 
he never expected to see such tragedies in his days ; and C. 
Fox, to whom he had sent them, is in such raptures with them, 
that he has written a critique of five pages upon the subject to 
Sir George. — Miss Berrfs Correspondence,'^ 

William Cobbett. 

1762-1835, 

It would be well worth the while of some competent editor 
to form a selection from Cobbett's multifarious writings. Since 
Swift, from whom he derived his style, there has been no more 
remarkable writer of terse, idiomatic English, and especially of 
the language of vituperation. When he was seeking work at 
Kew^ Gardens, at ten years old, he slept under a haystack, 
reading the Tale of a Tub" as long as daylight lasted. His 
mind was not reserved or thoughtful enough to appropriate the 
irony of his great master 3 but in the Political Register" there 
are lampoons as bitter, and almost as forcible and witty, as 
those of Swift himself. In his miscellaneous writings, such as 
his " English Grammar," Cobbett always digresses from time to 
time into gratuitous attacks on the multitudinous objects of his 
indignation. " You may use," he tells his pupil, either a 
singular or plural verb with a noun of multitude, but you must 
not use both numbers in the same sentence. It is wrong to 
say. Parliament is shamefully extravagant, and they are returned 
by a gang of rascally borough-mongers." — G. S. Venables. 

A labourer's son, 'mid squires and lords, 
. Strong on his own stout legs he stood ; 
Well-armed in bold and trenchant wit ] 
And well they learned that tempted it, 
That his was English blood. 

And every wound his victim felt 

Had in his eyes a separate charm ; 

Yet, better than successful strife. 

He loved the memory of his life 

In boyhood, on the farm. — George LnsJmigton. 



364 



Will in VI Cohbctt. 



He is a kind of fourth estate in the poHtics of the country. 
He is not only unquestionably the most powerful political 
writer of the day, but one of the best writers in the language. 
He thinks and speaks plain, broad, downright English. He 
might be said to have the clearness of Swift, the naturalness of 
Defoe, and the picturesque satirical description of Mandeville. 
—Hazlitt. 

There was something of Datidic Dinnuvit about him, with 
his unfailing good humour and good spirits, his heartiness, his 
love of field sports, and his liking for a foray. He was a tall, 
stout man, fiiir and sunburnt, with a bright smile, and an air 
compounded of the soldier and the farmer, to which his habit 
of wearing an eternal red waistcoat contributed not a litde. He 
was, I think, the most athletic and vigorous person that I have 
ever known. Nothing could tire him. At home, in the morning, 
he would begin his active day by mowing his own lawn, beating 
his gardener, Robinson, the best mower, excepting himself, in 
the i)arish, at that fatiguing work. — ^^, R, Mitford, 
Hell is a city much like London — 

A populous and a smoky city : 
There are all sorts of people undone 
And there is little or no fun done, 

wSmall justice shown, and still less pity. 
There is a Castles and a Canning, 
A Cobbett —Shelley. 

In digging up your bones, Tom Paine, 

Will Cobbett has done well \ 

You visit him on earth again, 

He'll visit you in hell ! — Byron. 
It is horrible to know that we are living in the same place 
with even one human creature so capable, avowedly and 
exultingly capable, of every brutaUty that could degrade the 
name of man. — Quarterly Rrcieiu^ 1S31. 

Mr. Cobbett was brought to trial. He defended himself ; 
and appearing there for the first time before a public audience, 
exhibited a new, but by no means a rare example of the 
difference bet^veen writing and speaking. For nothing could 
be more dull and unimpressive than his speech, nothing less 
clear and distinct than his reasoning, more feeble than his style, 
or more embarrassed and inefficient than his delivery. — Lord 
Brougham, 



William Cobbett — George Colman the Yotmger, 365 

The Cobbett is assuredly a strong and battering production 
throughout, and in the best bad style of this political rhinoceros, 
with his coat armour of dry and wet mud, and his one horn 
of brutal strength on the nose of scorn and hate, not to forget 

the flying rasp of his tongue The self-complacency with 

which he assumes to himself exclusively truths which he can 
call his own only as a horse-dealer can appropriate a stolen 
horse, by adding mutilation and deformities to robbery, is as 
artful as it is amusing. Still, however, he has given great 
additional publicity to weighty truths, as, ex, gr., the hollowness 
of commercial wealth ; and from whatever dirty corner or straw 
moppet the ventriloquist Truth causes her words to proceed, I 
not only listen, but must bear witness that it is Truth talking. 
His conclusions, however, are palpably Sihsmd,-— Coleridge, 



George Colman the Younger. 
1762-1836. 

If I had to choose and could not have both at a time, I 
should say, let me begin the evening with Sheridan and finish 
it with Colman. Sheridan for dinner and Colman for 
supper; Sheridan for claret or port, but Colman for every- 
thing. Sheridan was a grenadier company of life-guards, but 
Colman a whole regiment — of lig/il iijfaniry to be sure, but 
still a regiment. — Byron} 

It was on this occasion that we first had the delight of hear- 
ing Mr. Colman read. The comedy of John Bull" was on 
the point of being got up at York, and Tate requested as a 
favour that the author would give the performers the advantage 
of his instructions in their several characters by reading the 



^ Mrs. Charles Mathews, who was personally acquainted with Colman 
and Sheridan, in her Memoirs of her husband, writes thus of ihem : — 
** Colman perfectly broke him (Sheridan) down by the force of his vivacity. 
Sheridan had no chance with him in repartee, and he always gave up to his 
little merry companion after the first attempt, in which he generally failed. 
His genius seemed to forsake him for the time, and Mr. Colman's fire 
appeared to blaze the brighter for being kindled upon the embers of the 
splendid ruin before him. He always felt his ovm advantage, and was 
more brilliant as he found the other more dull." — Ed. 



366 



George Cob nan the Younger. 



play in the green-room. This indeed proved a treat ; those 
\\\\o were to act in tlie comedy and those who were not, alike 
enjoyed it. It is for those only who have experienced the 
delight of hearing Mr. Colman read his dramatic productions 
to guess the pleasure with which his perfect representation of 
every character was listened to by the performers ; proving that 
one of the best dramatists of his day might also have been one 
of the finest actors. — " Memoirs of C. Mathews ^ 

He was not so interesting a man as his father, for he had not 
a particle of gravity ; and there can be no depth of sympathy 
where there is no serious feeling. The blank-verse parts of his 
l)lay are ridiculous prose commoni)lace, and the sentimental 
])arts of his comedies mere cant and affectation — the whining 
of hypocrisy and disbelief ; but his "fun" was genuine ; and if 
he carried it with him where it had no business, and made his 
prose-writing and life-writing nothing but overweening joke, 
pun, and vulgarity, we must admit that he was really the 
" funny fellow" he wished to be on all lawful occasions. His 
manners in private, though his conversation was nothing but 
pun and jest (which, however, does not render the report 
incredible), are said to have been very polished, and of the old 
school — an idea which it is difficult to entertain of the author of 
" Random Records." — Edijiburgh Rreirw^ 1841. 

COLMAX'S EPITAPH. 

Within this monumental bed 
Apollo's favourite rests his head : 

Ye Muses, cease your grieving. 
A son the father's loss supplies, 
Be comforted, though Colman dies, 

His " Heir-at-Law" is living. — Anon,^ 1836. 

Colman wrote for all time. He was a sounder, a far cleaner 
philosopher than S^^^ft — a truer, because a more modest volup- 
tuary than Prior. He did not, like Sterne, bid the " lights 
of science" phosphorize corruption ; he was much more elegant 
than Smollett or Fielding : nay, the naughtiest passage he ever 
penned is fitter for feminine perusal than Richardson's "Pamela" 
and " Clarissa." Colman sought not, like Byron, to make error 
resistless — to sneer down virtue and religion ; — above all, he was 
ever gallant. He ^\TOte of 7i>o?nan. (though justly, as to the 
foibles of her heart and mind) " like a thankful and reverend 



George Colman the Yonnger — Samttel Rogers. 367 



youth." .... The bard of Broad Grins" was a moral man.^ — 
W, Ellis, 

Samuel Rogers. 

His elegance is really wonderful ; there is no such thing as 
a vulgar line in his book. — Byron. 

Rogers is silent, — and it is said, severe. When he does talk 
he talks well ; and, on all subjects of taste, his delicacy of 
expression is as pure as his poetry. If you enter his house — 
his drawing-room — his library, you of yourself say, this is not 
the dwelling of a common mind. There is not a gem, a coin, 
a book, thrown aside on his chimney-piece, his sofa, his table, 
that does not bespeak an almost fastidious elegance in the pos- 
sessor.— /^/^.'^ 

He is a very extraordinary man, I firmly believe he dislikes 
men when they become prosperous, because he feels he can no 
longer do them and his own heart good by any aid he can 
tender them. — Tho??ias Campbell. 

My dear Rogers, if we were both in America, we should be 



^ This ridiculous flourish appeared in the New Monthly Magazine, for 
1837, under the directorship of Theodore Hook. — -Ed. 

^ Medwin, in his Life of Shelley," prints the following verses on Rogers, 
which he attributes, whether justly or not I know not, to Byron. I can 
find room only for the Question, the Answer occupies two pages : — ■ 

Nose and chin would shame a knocker, 
Wrinkles that would puzzle Cocker, 
Mouth which marks the envious scomer, 
With a scorpion at the comer, 
Turning its quick tail to sting you, 
In the place that most may wring you ; 
Eyes of lead-like hue and gummy, 
Carcase picked up from some mummy, 
Bowels — but they were forgotten, 
Save the liver, and that's rotten ; 
Skin all sallow, flesh all sodden, 
From the Devil would frighten Godwin. 
Is't a corpse set up for show ? 
Galvaniz'd at times to go ? 
With the Scripture in connexion, 
New proof of the resurrection ? 
Vampire ! ghost ! or goat, what is it ? 
I would walk ten miles to miss it." — Ed. 



368 



SajJiNcI Rogers. 



tarred and fcatliered ; and lovely as we are by nature, I should 
be an ostrich and you an emu. — S. Smith. 

Mr. Rogers, I believe, has never met with that species of Mo- 
hawk criticism, that scalping and scarifying literary assault and 
battery, which so many of his contemporaries have had to undergo. 
There was a gentleness and a calm suavity about his writings 
which disarmed the most eager assailant of merit. There was 
in him an absence of that militant and antagonistic spirit which 
provokes the like animus. There were felt only the purity of 
taste, the deej) love of beauty in art and nature, the vivid yet 
tender sympathy with humanity which put every one dread- 
fully in the wrong who should attemi)t to strike down their 
possessor. — W. Jlowitt. 

Dare I in lame and simple pride 
Hobble where Rogers loves to glide ? 

Whose sweetly simple measures 
Make enviers of Genius mad. 
Delight the moral, soothe the sad. 
Give Human Life a zest, and add 

To Memory's greatest Pleasures. — CoI//ian. 

How \-exatious it is tluU a man wlio has so much the power 
of i)leasing and attaching pcoj^le to him should mar the gifts of 
Nature so entirely by giving way to that sickly and discontented 
turn of mind, which makes him dissatisfied with everything, 
and disai)pointed in all his views of life ! Yet he can feel for 
others ; and notwithstanding this unfortunate habit he has given 
himself of dwelling upon the faults and follies of his friends, he 
reall}- can feel attachment. — Lady Donegal to T. Moore? 



^ Lady Donegal and Rogers waged incessant conflicts. Once at dinner 
she called across to Rogers, " Now I am sure you are talking against me." 
"Lady Donegal," answered Rogers, ''I pass my life in defending you." 
Rogers seems indeed to have justified the character given to him in the 
verses with which Capt. Medwin accredits Byron. On entering Moore's 
cottage at Sloperton, and seeing it hung round with portraits of Lords Grey, 
Russell, Lansdo^^Tle, &c., he remarked, " So I see you have your patrons 
around you." When Moore afterwards told the story, he said, A good- 
natured man would have said friends?^ Assuredly he was not good-natured. 

He once liberally belauded a friend, Lady . On his leaving the room 

a lady remarked that she had never heard Rogers speak so well of any one 
before. The door opened, and in popped Rogers's head. There are 
spots on the sun, though," cried he, and disappeared. His opinion of a 
friend's wife was thus expressed : "The banditti wanted to carry off P 



Samuel Rogers — Anne Radclijfe. 369 



I believe no man ever was so much attended to and thought 
of, who had so slender a fortune and such calm abilities. His 
god was Harmony ; and over his life Harmony presided, sitting 
on a lukewarm cloud. He was not the poet, sage, and philo- 
sopher people expect to find he was ; but a man in whom the 
tastes (rare fact) preponderated over the passions, who defrayed 
the expenses of his tastes as other men make outlay for the grati- 
fication of their passions. He did nothing rash. I am sure 
Rogers as a baby never fell down unless he was pushed ) but 
walked from chair to chair in the drawing-room, steadily and 
quietly, till he reached the place where the sunbeam fell on the 
carpet. He must always have preferred a lullaby to the 
merriest game at romps. — Quoted in the Edmhurgh Reviezv^ 
1856. 

We see Rogers often in the morning, but he does not dine 

here I sometimes like him very much, and sometimes 

I think him so given up, body and soul, to the world, and such 
a worshipper of my lord and my lady, that I think it a great 
waste of any of my spare kind feehngs to bestow them upon 
him. Love without a coronet over it goes for nothing in his 
eyes. — -Moore's " Diary 

Anne Radcliffe. 
1764-1823. 

Mrs. Radcliffe was as truly an inventor, a great and original 
writer in the department she had struck out for herself — whether 
that department was of the highest kind or no — as the 
Richardsons, Fieldings, Smolletts, whom she succeeded, and 
for a time threw into the shade, or the Ariosto of the North, 
before whom her own star has paled its ineffectual fires. The 
passion of fear — the latent sense of supernatural awe, and 
curiosity concerning whatever is hidden and mysterious — these 
were themes and sources of interest which, prior to the 
appearance of her tales, could scarcely be said to be touched 
on. — Lord yeffrey^ 1834. 



into the mountains, when they were stopped in Italy ; but his wife flung her 
aims round her husband's neck, and rather than take her with them they 
let him go." — Ed. 

W B 



3/0 



A;i;u' Radclijfc— Robert Hall 



I loved her from my bo}-l-iood : she to me 

Was as a fairy city of the heart, 

Rising like water columns from the sea, 

Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart. 

And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakspcare's art 

Had stamp'd her image on me. — Chihk Harold^ 

Robert Mali. 
1764-1S31. 

Whoever wishes to see the English language in its perfection 
must read the writings of that great divine, Robert Hall. He 
combines the beauties of Johnson, Addison, and Burke, with- 
out their imperfections. — Du\:;ald Sfncarf. 

For moral grandeur, for Christian truth, and for sublimity, 
we may doubt whether they have their match in the sacred 
oratory of any age or country. — Sedgicick. 

The name of Robert Hall will be placed by ])osterity among 
the best writers of the age, as well as the most vigorous 
defenders of religious truth, and the brightest examples of 
Christian charit)'. — Sir y. Mackiiitosh. 

Nothing is more talked of than Robert Hall's Sermons." 
Our bishop makes every Himily of every description, possessed 
of money, buy that and The Strictures," and speaks of both 
as grand engines to reform the times. — ''^Memoirs of H. More.'" 

We had amongst us some English Dissenters. Robert Hall, 
now a Dissenting clergyman at Cambridge, was of the number. 
He then displayed the same acuteness and brilliancy, the same 
extraordinary vigour both of understanding and imagination, 
which have since distinguished him. His society and conver- 
sation had a great influence on my mind. Our controversies 
were almost unceasing. We lived in the same house, and we 
were both very disputatious. He led me to the perusal of 
Jonathan Edwards's book on Free \\'ill, which Dr. Priestley 
had pointed out before. I am sorry that I never yet read the 
other works of that most extraordinary man, who in a meta- 
physical age or country would certainly have been deemed as 
much the boast of America as his great countryman Franklin. 
Hall defended the rigid, and I the more lenient opinion. — 
'"''Life of Sir James Maekijitoshr 

He is what Johnson would have been (if it be possible to 



Robert Hall — Sir jfames Mackintosh, 37! 

conceive him such) had he been a Whig and a Dissenter. 
He has something of his dogmatism — something of his super- 
stition — something of his melancholy — something of the same 
proneness to erect himself before man and prostrate himself to 
the earth before God ; a mixture of pride and of humility — of 
domination and self-abasement. He has much, too, of Johnson's 
love of common sense and home-spun philosophy, combined, 
however, with an imagination far more vivid and excursive, for 
which the former qualities did not serve as an adequate cor- 
rective. His learning is not on the same scale as his mother 
wit j it is enough, however, to add stamina to his speculations, 
and for more perhaps he did not greatly care. His knowledge 
of metaphysical and deistical writers appears to have been 
that in which he chiefly excelled; his allusions to classical 
authors are few, and his quotations from them trite and un- 
scholar-like ; but he was too affluent to borrow, and too inde- 
pendent to be a slave to authorities. — Quarterly Revietu^ 1832. 

Sir James Mackintosh. 

1765-1832. 

Mackintosh's memory is well stored with fine passages, Latin 
and English, which he repeats; and his taste in poetry inchnes 
rather to metrical philosophy than pathos or fancy. Milton, 
Dryden, and Pope, have alone sufficient good sense to please 
him ; Virgil he overrates, I think, and Cicero too. Style and 
again style is the topic of his praise. — W, Taylor, 

A high merit in Sir James Mackintosh was his real and un-= 
affected philanthropy. He did not make the improvement of 
the great mass of mankind an engine of popularity and a 
stepping-stone to power, but he had a genuine love of human 
happiness. Whatever might assuage the angry passions, and 
arrange the conflicting interests of nations ; whatever could 
promote peace, increase knowledge, extend commerce, diminish 
crime, and encourage industry ; whatever could exalt human 
character, and could enlarge human understanding, struck at once 
at the heart of your father, and roused all his faculties. I have 
seen him in a moment when this spirit came upon him — like a 
great ship of war— cut his cable, and spread his enormous canvas, 
and launch into a wide sea of reasoning eloquence. — Sydney Smith. 

His mind was a vast magazine, admirably arranged. Every- 

B B 2 



372 



Sir saiucs Mackintosh. 



thing was there ; and everything was in its place. His judg- 
ments on men, on sects, or books, had been often and carefully 
tested and weighed, and had then been committed, each to its 
proper receptacle, in the most capacious and accurately con- 
structed memory that any human Ijcing ever possessed. — 
Ala can lay. 

Coleridge has seen much of him at tlie Wedgewoods. He 
describes him as acute in argument, mure skilful in detecting 
the logical errors of his adversary than in jjropounding tmth 
himself — a man accustomed to the gladiatorship of conversation 
— a literary fencer who parries better tlian he thrusts. — Soiif/uy, 

His universality of knowledge must be admitted. He was 
one of the most amiable of men, and the most delightful of all 
society, and not conceited and dogmatical like Coleridge. As 
Campbell truly observed also, lie was too great a man for the 
House of Commons, where candid, sound argument, closely 
reasoned, is as much out of place as a ship on dry land. — 
C. RcJiiing. 

I think Mackintosh a better philosopher, and a better citizen 
than Payne; in whose book there are great irradiations of 
genius, but none of the glowing and generous warmth which 
^•irtue inspires ; that warmth which is often kindled in the 
bosom of Mackintosh. — Dr. Parr} 

I never met a man with a fuller mind than Mackintosh — 
such readiness on all subjects, such a talker I — Rogers. 

To Mackintosh indeed my obligations have been of a far 
higher order than those even of the kindest hospitality; he has 
been an intellectual master to me, and has enlarged my pros- 
pects into the wide region of moral speculation, more than any 
other tutor I ever had in the art of thinking ; I cannot even 
except Dugald Stewart, to whom I once thought I owed more 
than I could ever receive from another. Had Mackintosh 
remained in England, I should have possessed, ten years hence, 
powers and views which now are beyond my reach. — F. Horjier, 

Mackintosh strives to unite 
The grave and the gay, the profound and polite \ 
And piques himself much that the ladies should say — 
How well Scottish strength softens down in Bombay ! 



^ Yet Pan* disliked Mackintosh. ''Mackintosh,'' said he, "came up 
from Scotland with a metaphysical head, a cold heart, and open hands. " — Ed. 



Sir James Mackmtosh — Maria Edgeworth, 373 



Frequents the assembly, the supper, the ball, 
Th.Q philosophe-beati unloveable Stael ; 
Affects to talk French in his hoarse Highland note, 
And gurgles Italian halfway down his throat; 
His gait is a shuffle, his smile is a leer, 
His converse is quaint, his civility queer,— 
In short — to all grace and deportment a rebel, 
At best he is but a half-polish'd Scotch pebble. 

" New Whig Guide:' 

Of all those whose conversation is referred to by Moore, Sir 
James Mackintosh was the ablest, the most brilliant, and the 
best informed. A most competent judge in this matter has 
said, Till subdued by age and illness, his conversation was 
more brilliant and instructive than that of any human being's 
I ever had the good fortune to be acquainted with." His 
stores of learning were vast, and of those kinds which, both 
in serious and light conversation, are most available. — Earl 
Russell. 

Sir James Mackintosh is the king of the men of tale7it. He 
is a most elegant converser. How well I remember his giving 
breakfast to me and Sir Humphrey Davy, at that time an un- 
known young man, and our having a very spirited talk about 
Newton, Locke, and so forth ! When Davy was gone, 
Mackintosh said to me, "That's a very extraordinary young 
man \ but he is gone WTong on some points." But Davy was 
at that time at least a man of genius; and I doubt if 
Mackintosh ever heartily appreciated an eminently original 
man. He is uncommonly powerful in his own line ; but it is 
not the line of a first-rate man. After all his fluency and 
brilliant erudition, you can rarely carry off anything worth pre= 
serving. You might not improperly write on his forehead, 
" warehouse to let." He always dealt too much in generalities 
for a lawyer. He is deficient in powxr in applying his principles 
to the points in debate. — Coleridge^ " Ta^ble Talk:'' 

Maria Edgewortb, 
1767-1849. 

She was a nice little unassuming Jeanie-Deans-looking 
body," as w^e Scotch say, — and if not handsome, certainly not 



374 



Maria Edgcii^ortJi. 



ill-looking.^ Her conversation was as quiet as herself. One 
^\■oukl never have guessed she could write her iiamc. — Byron. 

Her merit, her extraordinary merit, both as a moralist and a 
woman of genius, consists in her having selected a class of 
\ irtues far more difficult to treat as the subject of fiction than 
others, and which had therefore l)cen left by former writers to 
her. — Sir yamcs Afiukiutos/i. 

Miss Edgeworth was delightful — so clever and sensible ! She 
does not say witty things, but there is such a perfume of wit 
runs through her conversation as makes it very brilliant. — 

The art of Miss Edgeworth's .stories is, I think, too apparent. 
The follies and vices of the actors bring them too regularly to 
ruin. They act in circumstances arranged for them, and do 
not, as in Shakspeare, produce the circumstances in the de- 
velopment of their characters. — B. R. HaydojL 

There are very few who have had the opportunities that have 
been jjresented to me, of knowing how very elevated is the 
admiration entertained by the author of Waverley " for the 
genius of Miss Edgeworth. From the intercourse that took 
place between us while the work was going through my press, 
1 know that the exquisite truth and power of your characters 
operated on his mind at once to excite and subdue it 

If I could but hit Miss Edgeworth's wonderful power of 
\ivifying all her persons, and making them live as beings in 
your mind I should not be afraid," — often has the author of 
Waverley " used such language to me, and I knew that I 
could gratify him most when I could say, Positively this is 
equal to Miss Edgeworth." — James Ballantyjie. 

Miss Edgeworth is at present the great lioness of Edinburgh; 
and a very nice lioness. She is full of fun and spirit ; a little 
slight figure, very acti\-e in her motions, very good humoured 

and full of enthusiasm It is scarcely possible to say more 

of this very remarkable person than that she not only completely 



^ Miss Edgeworth's father was Richard Lovell Edgeworth, a wTiter of some 
popularity in his day. Sydney Smith says, "Mr. Edgeworth seems to 
possess the sentiments of an accomplished gentleman, the infomiation of a 
scholar, and the vivacity of a first-rate harlequin. He is fuddled w-ith 
animal spirits, giddy with constitutional joy : in such a state he must have 
written or burst. A discharge of ink was an evacuation absolutely necessary 
to avoid fatal ai:d Dlethiric congestion," 



Maria Edgeworth, 



375 



answered, but exceeded the expectations that I had formed. 
I am particularly pleased with the naivete and good-humoured 
ardour of mind which she unites with such formidable powers 
of acute observation. In external appearance she is quite the 
fairy of our nursery tale, the Whippity Stourie, if you remember 
such a sprite, who came flying through the window to work all 
sorts of marvels. 1 will never believe but what she has a wand 
in her pocket, and pulls it out to conjure a little before she 
begins to write those very striking pictures of mamners. — Sir 
W. Scott 

Miss Edgeworth is eminently an utilitarian, and always sets 
plainly before us the practical bearing of such or such line of 
conduct, with a view to some useful end. Everything is 
omitted that is not convertible to this purpose; and the glowing 
pictures with which other novelists try to embellish their fictitious 
territory, are by her appropriated to a more homely, but profit- 
able culture. Yet such is the admirable management of her 
story, the rapid yet natural march of the action, and the spirit 
and variety of her characters, that we are little disposed, during 
the progress of the tale, to regret the comparative paucity of 
adventitous ornaments and complete absence of poetical eleva- 
tion. — Edinburgh Eevieiv, 1830. 

Speaking of Miss Edgeworth, for whom, genius apart, I have 
a great respect, my friend Miss Fanshawe^ met her last year 
in London. She, who is a strict and highly qualified judge of 
character, and thinks as highly as I do of her genius, was very 
much pleased indeed with Miss E.'s manners, which she de- 
scribes as indicative of perfect modesty and sound good sense. 
She admired the equal civility with which she received all worthy 
persons introduced to her, as well as the calm steadiness with 
which she declined introductions to those who by rank, wit, or 
assurance, forced their way into that society from which they 
ought to have been ever excluded by their misconduct. — 
Grant's "Letters,"''^ 



^ Catherine Fansliawe, a well-known poetess some forty, yeais or more 
ago. She was the author of the riddle on the letter H, generally attributed 
to Byron. — Ed. 

^ "Wednesday, May 12th. — I went to Lady Davy's in the evenmg. There 
were seventy or eighty people there ; amongst others Miss Edgeworth, who 
was my object. She is very small, with a countenance that promises 
nothing at first sight, or as one sees her in society. She has very winning 
manners. She received with much warmth what I said of my desire to see 



3/6 



Junius. 

1769-1772. 

I like him. He was a good hater. — Byron. 

That the work entitled, The Identity of Junius with a 
Distinguished Living Character Established, proves Sir Philip 
Francis to be Junius, we will not affirm ; but this we can safely 
assert : that it accumulates such a mass of circumstantial 
evidence as renders it extremely difhrult to believe he is not, 
and that, if so many coincidences shall be found to have misled 
us in this case, our faith in all conclusions drawn from jjroofs 
of a similar kind may henceforth be shaken. — Broifg/iani. 

I should have believed Burke to be Junius, because I knew 
no man but I'urke who is capable of writing these Letters ; " 
but lUirke spontaneously denied it to me. The case would 
have been ditterent, had I asked him if he was the author ; a 
man so (juestioned, as to anonymous publication, may think 
he has a right to deny it. — JohnsLVi. 

One of the strongest reasons for believing that Francis was 

Junius is the moral resemblaiu e between the two men He 

was clearly a man not destitute of real patriotism and magna- 
nimity, a man whose vices were not of a sordid kind. But he 
must also have been a man in the highest degree arrogant and 
insolent, a man prone to malevolence, and prone to the error 
of mistaking his malevolence for public virtue. — Macau/ay. 

The inquiry into the secret of his authorship has been so 
long and so utterly baffled, that it would now be idle to renew 
it. The late attempt to give the honour to Sir Philip Francis 
has failed like the rest, and from a cause admitting of no answer. 
Sir Philip had not tale?its for the task. Writing all his life, and 
even emulously adopting the style of Jimius, he never was 
able to adopt his spirit. The habiliments were there, the man 
to wear them was wanting. The epigrammatic turn, the terse- 



the author of her works, and of all the obligations I felt, in common with 
all our sex, towards one of her genius. She said a great many pretty 
things of all she had heard of me and of my society." — Miss Be?'7ys 
* * yonrnal. " — Ed. 

^ Of this book Wraxall, in his "Posthumous Memoirs,'' says, ''Eveiy 
page, combining to a common point, ultimately forces conviction.'' He 
satisfactorily disj^oses of Chalmers's theory of Boyd. — Ed, 



Junius, 



377 



ness, the virulence, the abruptness, all the errors were there, 
and all exaggerated ; but the redeeming qualities of the great 
writer — the vividness, the fine originality — the concealed meta- 
phor shining through and giving beauty to the simplest phrase — - 
— the intense poignancy striking like a dagger to the heart, 
were not there, and Junius has gone to his immortality un= 
encumbered by the clay of Sir Philip Yx^xicv^— Blackwood^ s 
Magazine^ i^SS- 

All circumstances fully weighed, my own conviction is, that 
the " Letters of Junius " were written by the Right Honourable 
William Gerard Hamilton, commonly designated by the nick= 
name of ^^Single-speech Hamilton."— 

Three persons are considered as having the best claim to the 
authorship of Junius's Letters " — Gibbon, Hamilton, and Burke. 
Gibbon is out of the question. I do not believe that they were 
Hamilton's, because a man who was willing to be known as 
the author of a bad piece would hardly have failed to acknow- 
ledge that he had written an excellent book. I incline to 
think that Burke was Junius. — Grattan. 

Malone (than whom no one was more intimate with Burke) 
persisted to the last in saying that if " Junius's Letters" were not 
written by Burke, they were at least written by some person 
who had received great assistance from Burke in composing 
them, and he was strongly inclined to fix the authorship of 
them upon J^^^x}— Rogers's " Table Talk:' 

My own impression is that the "Letters of Junius " were written 
by Sir Philip Francis. In a speech which I once heard him 
deliver at the Mansion House, concerning the partition of 
Poland, I had a striking proof that Francis possessed no ordi- 
nary powers of eloquence. — Ibid, 

Nature had conferred on Francis talents such as are rarely 
dispensed to any individual — a vast range of ideas, a retentive 
memory, a classic mind, considerable command of language, 
energy of thought and expression, matured by age, and actuated 
by an inextinguishable animosity to Hastings. Francis indeed 
universally disclaimed any personal enmity to the inan^ only 



^ Dyer was a man of excellent taste and profound erudition, whose 
principal literary work, under a Roman signature, when the veil with which, 
for near thirty-one years it has been enveloped, shall be removed, will 
place him in a high rank among English writers, and transmit a name, now 
little known, with distinguished lustre to posterity, — Malone, 



3/8 



Junius, 



reprobating the measures of the Ruler of India, and per- 
haps he might sincerely beheve his assertion. But he ahvays 
appeared to me, Hke the son ofLivia, to deposit his resentments 
deep in liis own breast ; from which lie drew them forth, if not 
augmented by time, at least in all their original vigour and 
freshness. Acrimony distinguished and characterized him in 
cverytliing. Even his i)erson, tall, thin, and scantily covered 
with Ik-sh ; his countenance, the lines of which were acute, 
intelHgent, and full of meaning ; the tones of his voice, sharp, 
distinct and sonorous ; his very gestures, impatient and irre- 
gular — eloquently bespoke the formation of his intellect. I 

believe I never saw him smile Bursting with bile, which i 

tinged and pervaded all his speeches in Parliament, yet his I 
irrascibility never overcame his reason, nor compelled his 
friends, like those of Burke, to mingle regret with their admira- 
tion, and to condemn or to pity the individual whom they 
apj)lauded as an orator. Francis, however inferior to Burke in 
all the llowers of diction, in exuberance of ideas borrowed 
from antiquity, and in the magic of eloquence, more than once 
electrified the house by passages of pathos or of interest 
which arrested every hearer. — JFmxa/f s ''''Posthumous Memoir s.^^ 
The writer of the " Letters of Junius " is sull undiscovered. 
The only claim entitled to discussion is that set up for Sir 
Philip Francis, in spite of that gentleman himself, by Mr. 
Ta\ lor, in tlie very ingenious book, too boldly entitled " Junius 
Identified." From that book, especially from the interest 
taken by Junius in the petty intrigues of the War Office, 
and from the coincidence of the artificial handwriting of Junius 
with an artificial handwiting of Sir Philip Francis in the pos- 
session of Mr. Giles, we may probably infer that Sir P. was in 
the confidence of Junius, and perhaps his amanuensis. The 
supposition, however, most pre\'alent among contemporary 
politicians and men of letters was, that the "Letters" were written 
by Mr. Dyer, an original member of Johnson's Club, and an 
intimate friend of Burke, from whom the ^vTiter might have 
received some of his information, perhaps casually ; and from 
whose conversation the few but striking Burkisms, so much at 
variance with the general tenor of the style, might have over- 
flowed into the mind of Dyer, and almost insensibly dropped 
from his pen. — Edinburgh Ra'iecc^ 1826. 



379 



William Wordsworth. 
1770-1850. 

The more I see of Mr. Wordsworth the more I admire, 
and I may also say love him. It is deHghtful to see a life in 
such perfect harmony with all that his writings express, " true 
to the kindred points of heaven and home." — Mrs, Hemans. 
In honour 'd poverty thy voice did weave 
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty. — Shelley. 
Him who utter'd nothing base. — Tennyson, 

One of the very few original poets that this age (fertile 
as it is in rhymers qiiales ego et Chtvienns) has had the glory of 
producing. — Thomas Mooi^e, 

Of one such teacher who has been given to our own age 
you have described the power when you said that in his an- 
nunciation of truths he seemed to speak in thunders. I believe 
that mighty voice has not been poured out in vain ; that there 
are hearts that have received into their inmost depths all its 
varying tones ; and that even now there are many to whom the 
name of Wordsworth calls up the recollection of their weak- 
ness and the consciousness of their strength. — Coleridge, 

He seems a very intelligent man — for a horse-couper.'^ — 
yames Hogg. 

We learn from Horace Homer sometimes sleeps 
We feel without him, Wordsworth sometimes wakes ; — 
To show with what complacency he creeps 
With his dear " Waggoners" around his lakes. 
He wishes for a boat" to sail the deeps — 
Of ocean ? — no, of air ; and then he makes 
Another outcry for a " little boat," 
And drivels seas to set it well afloat. 

If he must fain sweep o'er th' ethereal plain. 
And Pegasus runs restive in his Waggon," 
Could he not beg the loan of Charles's Wain ? 
Or pray Medea for a single dragon ? 
Or if, too classic for his vulgar brain, 
He fear'd his neck to venture such a nag on. 
And he must needs mount nearer to the moon, 
Could not the blockhead ask for a balloon ? 



38o 



William IVordswort/i. 



" Pedlars," and " Boats," and Waggons !" O ye shades 

Of Pope and Dryden, has it come to this ? 

That trash of such sort not alone evades^ 

Contempt, but from the bathos' vast abyss 

Floats scum-like uppermost, and these Jack Cades 

Of sense and song above your graves may hiss — 

'i1ie " little boatman" and his Peter Bell" 

Can sneer at him who drew Achitophel I"' — Byron, 

He wrote many poems that are trivial or puerile or mere 
trash. Not a doubt of it. There stand the very i)oems still 
in liis works — anybody can see them — the ungrateful monu- 
ments of a great poet. Weakness reared by his o\w\ hands and 
kept in jei)air to his latest day. — Home. 

Wordswortli I am told does not care for music ! And it is 
very likely, for music (to judge from his verses) does not seem 
to care for liim. I was astonished the other day, on looking 
in his works for the first time after a long interval, to find how 
deficient he was in all that may be called the musical side of a 
poet's nature — the genial, the animal-spirited, or bird-like, — the 
happily accordant. Indeed he does not appear to me now half 

the man I once took him for He is in danger of being taken 

by posterity (who will certainly never read two-thirds of him) 
for a kind of puritan retainer of the Establishment, melancholy 
in his recommendations of mirth, and perplexed between 
pmdence, pragmaticalness, subserviency, and ascendancy, retro- 
spection, and innovation. — Leigh Hinit. 

\\'ordsworth's faculty is in describing those far-reaching and 
intense feelings and glimmerings, and doubts and fears, and 
hopes of man, as referring to what he might be before he w^as 
born, or what he may be hereafter. He is a great being, and 
'will hereafter be ranked as one who has a portion of the spirit 
of the mighty ones, especially Milton, but as one who did 
not possess the power of using that spirit otherwise than with 



1 My purpose was to imitate, and, as far as possible, to adopt the very 

language of men I have wished to keep the reader in the company 

of flesh and blood, persuaded that by doing so I shall interest him 

There will also be found in these volumes little of what is called 'poetic 
diction ; ' as much pains has been taken to avoid it as is ordinarily taken 
to produce it." — ]Vordrd.w7'ih. 

-In allusion to Mr. Wordsworth's assertion, The verses of Dr^^den, 
once highly celebrated, are forgotten. "—Ed. 



William Wordsworth, 



reference to himself, and so as to excite a reflex action only; 
that is, in my opinion, his great characteristic. — B, i?. Haydoii. 

I do not know a man more to be .venerated for uprightness 
of heart and loftiness of genius. — Sir W. Scott, 

He is in this sense the most original poet now living, and the 
one whose writings could the least be spared j for they have 
no substitute elsewhere. The vulgar do not read them ; the 
learned, who see all things through books, do not understand 
them ; the great despise, the fashionable may ridicule them ; 
but the author has created himself an interest in the heart of 
the retired and lonely student of nature, which can never die. 
Persons of this class will still continue to feel what he has felt ; 
I he has expressed what they might in vain wish to express, 
' except with glistening eye and faltering tongue ! There is a 
lofty philosophic tone, a thoughtful humanity, infused into his 
pastoral vein. Remote from the passions and events of the 
great world, he has communicated interest and dignity to the 
primal movements of the heart of man, and ingrafted his own 
conscious reflections on the casual thoughts of hinds and shep- 
herds. — Hazlitt. 

No one can dip into " The Excursion" without seeing that 
Wordsworth was devoid of humour, and that he cared more for 
the narrow Cumberland vale than he did for the big world. — 
Alexander Smith. 

Among the great living poets Wordsworth is the one whose 
poetry is to us the most inexplicable — with all our reverence 
for his transcendent genius, we do not fear to say the most open 
to the most serious charges — on the score of its religion. From 
the first line of the "Lyrical Ballads" to the last of "The 
Excursion" it is avowedly one system of thought and feeling, 
lembracing his experiences of human life and his meditations 
,on the moral^ government of this world. The human heart — 
the human mind — the human soul — to use his own fine words 
— ^is " the haunt and main region of his song." There are few, 
perhaps none, of our aflections— using that term in its largest 
sense — ^which have not been either slightly touched upon or 
fully treated by Wordsworth. In his poetry, therefore, we 
behold an image of what, to his eye, appears to be human life. 
Is there or is there not some great and lamentable defect in 
that image, marring both the truth and beauty of that repre- 
sentation ? We think there is, and that it lies in his religion. — 
Wilson, " Recreations of Christopher Norths 



382 William Wordsicorth — Sydney Siniih. 



To feel for the first time a communion with his mind is to 
discover loftier Acuities in our own. — Talfourd, 

His words have passed 
Into man's common thought and week-day phrase ; 
This is the poet and his verse will last. 
Such was our Shakspeare once, and such doth seem 
One wlio redeems our later gloomier days. 

R. C. TreiicJi. 

Sydney Smith. 
1771-J845. 

Smug Sydney. — Lord Byron, 

The \cry powerful parson, Peter Pith, 

The loudest wit I e'er was deafened with. — Ibid. 

When first I went into the church I had a curacy in the 
middle of Salisbury Plain. The squire of the parish took a 
fancy to me, and requested me to go with his son to reside at the 
University of Weimar; beforewecould getthere Gennany became 
the seat of war, and in stress of politics we put into Edinburgh, 
where I remained five years. The principles of the French 
Revolution were then fully afloat, and it is impossible to con- 
ceive a more violent and agitated state of society. Among the 
first persons with whom I became acquainted were Lord Jeftrey, 
Lord Murray (late Lord Advocate for Scotland), and Lord ' 
Brougham ; all of them maintaining opinions upon political 
subjects a little too liberal for the dynasty of Dundas, then 
exercising supreme power over the northern division of the 
island. One day we happened to meet in the eighth or ninth 
story or flat in Buccleugh Place, the elevated residence of the 
then Mr. Jefirey. I proposed that we should set up a Review ; \ 
this was acceded to with acclamation. I was appointed editor, ' 
and remained long enough in Edinburgh to edit the first 
number of the Edinhin'gh Ranew, The motto I proposed for 
the Review was — 

Te/iui viusani meditanmr avenaT 
We culti^•ate literature upon a litde oatmeal." 

But this was too near the truth to be admitted. — Sydi:. - 
SmitJu 



Sydney Smith. 



Such eyes, so noble a brow, with its brown hair thinly 
scattered; so symmetrical a profile, so expressive a'mouth, so 
fine and glowing a complexion ; such a combination of manly 
dignity and beauty, were never before seen nor since, as were 
combined in the face of that short, slight, active youth, Sydney 
Smith. — Grace Wharton, 

Looking at all he did, and the way in which he did it, it 
must be an inexpressible pleasure to all who knew, valued, and 
loved him, to observe that there was scarcely one question in 
which the moral, the intellectual, social, or even physical well- 
being of his fellow men were concerned, to the advancement of 
which he has not endeavoured to contribute. — Lord Monteagle, 

He is universally admitted to have been a great reasoner 
and the greatest master of ridicule that has appeared amongst 
us since Swift. — Lord Macaulay. 

In his peculiar style he has never been equalled, and perhaps 
will not be surpassed. — Earl Russell} 

Rare Sydney ! thrice honoured the stall where he sits, 
• And be his every honour he deigneth to climb at ! 

Had England a hierarchy form'd all of wits, 

Whom but Sydney would England proclaim as its primate ? 

Thomas Moore, 

I never heard a more eloquent man.- — B. R, Haydon, 

Sydney's acute and almost intuitive perception of character 
made him at once detect whatever was fictitious or assumed, 
but though this never escaped his keen observation, he was, I 
firmly believe, more severe towards himself than he was ever 
towards any other person. His disgust at hypocrisy made him 
so anxious to avoid the semblance of any attempt to appear 
better than he was, that he did not always do himself justice. 
.... The goodness of his heart was only revealed by his acts. — 
Lord Murray, 

Witty as Smith was, I have seen him at my own house, abso- 
lutely overpowered by the superior facetiousness of William 
Bankes. — Rogers, 



^ The great delight of Sydney vSmith was to produce a succession of hidi- 
crous images ; these followed each other with a rapidity that scarcely left 
time to laugh ; he himself laughed louder and with more enjoyment than 
my one. This electric contact of mirth came and went with the occasion ; 
Lt cannot be repeated or reproduced. — Earl Russell, Preface to Moore's 
Memoir s.^'' 



I 



384 



Sydney Smith — Sir Walter Scott. 



What Channing is to the democracy of America, with his 
sober, sustained, and clear dialectic, Sydney Smith is to the 
tribes of Noodledom, with his irony, his jeering, and his felici- 
tous illustrations. It is his pre-eminently to abash those who 
are case-hardened against grave argument, and to wring the 
withers of the very numerous and respectable class, who 

Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne, 
Arc touched and shanied by ridicule alone." 

There are thousands upon thousands whose intelligence is not 
to be awakened to the perception of wrong by the force of an 
Elenchus, unless, like a wasp, it carries a sting in its tail, who 
perceive nothing false that is not at the same time obviously 
absurd. To all such, Sydney Smith is an apostle ; be they as 
bigoted and as obtuse as they may, he breaks through their barrier 
of inapprehensiveness, presents them with a vivid and well- 
defined idea, and leaves them without a word to throw to a 
dog." .... His wit, like the spear of Ithuriel, has startled 
many a concealed misleader of the people. — Literary Gazette, 

His eminence as a \mter upon various subjects was great. 
His kindness and charity were a blessing to the poor by whom 
he was surrounded ; his warmth of heart, the clearness and 
depth of his understanding, and his brilliant conversation made 
him the most genial of social companions, the most cherished 
guest of every society he entered. His abounding wit and playful 
humour were always founded on good sense and on practical 
wisdom, and he was often apparently so amused himself with the 
comic combinations that sprang from their sober foundations, 
that, as the bright thoughts came bubbling forth in words, he en- 
hanced the amusement of others by his own frank mirth. — 
Miss Berry's ' ' Journal ^ Note, 

Sir Walter Scott. 

1771-1832. 

Blessings and prayers m nobler retinue 
Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows. 
Follow this wondrous potentate. — Wordsworth, 
Let me talk to you of the Prince Regent. He ordered me 
to be presented to him at a ball, and after some sayings pecu- 
liarly pleasing from royal lips as to my o\\ti attempts, he talked 



Sir Walter Scott. 



385 



jto me of you and your immortalities : he preferred you to 
every bard past and present, and asked which of your works 
pleased me most. It was a difficult question. I answered I 
thought the "Lay." He said his own opinion was nearly 
."similar. In speaking of the others, I told him I thought you 
Imore particularly the poet of princes^ as they never appeared 
tnore fascinating than in " Mannion " and " The Lady of the 
Lake." He was pleased to coincide, and to dwell upon the 
description of your Jameses as no less royal than poetical. I 
defy Murray to have exaggerated his royal highness's opinion 
of your powers. — Byro7i} 

I passed three days with Walter Scott, an amusing and highly 
estimable man. You see the whole extent of his powers in 
the Minstrel's " Lay," of which your opinion seems to accord 
) with mine — a very amusing poem ; it excites a novel-like 
[ interest, but you discover nothing on after-perusal. Scott bears 
[ \ great part in the Edinhirgh Review^ but does not review well. 
1 \ — Soiithey to W. Taylor. 
I It seemed to me that when he stood on his sound or left 
limb he rose to the height of a Hercules, and when on the 
lame one that he dmndled into a dwarf Except for this in- 
firmity, his person would have been extremely handsome ; he 
was at that time about thirty-four, rather fair, but without 
colour in his cheek, light brown hair, combed straight on the 
forehead, the eyebrows still lighter and hanging much over the 
eyes, which were greyish, small and sharp, the nose not so 
prominent as in Chantrey's bust, the upper lip remarkably long 
and curved outwards, the corners of the eyelids, as well as 
the corners of the mouth, inclining downwards, his teeth small 
and regular, but ill-coloured, which appeared to be the result 
/ of inattention, the more remarkable as in all other respects he 
I |was scrupulously nice in his toilet. His hands were delicate, 
; ^and at that time he always wore an antique gold ring on the 
Jiittle finger of the left hand. The sound limb, save that the 
j , foot was too large, was eminently handsome. The shoe of the 
fijlame foot was always too long ; he walked very rapidly, took 
fgigantic strides, set the staff so close to the lame foot as often 
!to put it actually on it, and I was in constant apprehension that 



^ Scott is certainly the most wonderful writer of the day. His novels are 
• a new literature in themselves, and his poetry as good as any — if not better — 
] only on an erroneous system. 1821. 

C C 



386 



Sir Walter Scott 



he would fall and injure himself. In manner he was a perfect; J 
gentleman. — Mrs. Ballantyne. ,' 

The whole expression of his benevolent countenance change^ 
if he has but to speak of the dirk and the claymore ; you see; 
the spirit that would say amidst the trumpets, Ha ! ha ! "i 
suddenly flashing from his grey eyes, and sometimes, in repeat- 
ing a verse of warlike minstrelsy, he will spring up, as if he. 
caught the sound of a distant gathering-cry. — Mrs, Henians, 

Scott is the other wonder of this age. Picturesque, interest- 
ing, and bard-like as are his narrative poems, the i)athos, , 
humour, description, character, and above all, the marvellous i 
fertility displayed in the novels, show far greater power; a . 
whole region of the territory of Imagination is occupied by this 
extraordinary man, alone and unapproachable. — Earl Russell} 

Mr. Scott always seems to me to be like a glass through 
which the rays of admiration pass without sensibly affecting it.. * 
— ^irs, Grant. j " 

'i'he last series of those half novels, half romance things,) 
called Tales of My Landlord," are dying off apace; but ifi* * 
their author gets money he will not care about the rest ; havings ^ [ 
never owned his work, no celebrity can be lost, nor no venture i ~ 
can injure him. — Mrs. Piozzi. ' 

The second and third volumes of a strange book, entitled 

Tales of my Landlord" ("Old Mortality"), are very fine in | 
their way. People say 'tis like reading Shakspeare ! I say 'tis 
as like Shakspeare as a bottle of peppermint water is to a bottle 
of the finest French brandy. — Ibid. 

Sir Walter Scott, Lamb, Wilkie, and Procter have been with 



^ Of Earl Russell, Lady Blessington wrote : "He came and dined with us, 
and was in better health and spirits than I remember him when in England., 
He is exceedingly well-read, and has a quiet dash of humour that renders! 
his observations very amusing. When the resene peculiar to him ip, 

thawed, he can be very agreeable Good sense, a considerable/ 

power of discrimination, a highly cultivated mind, and great equality of^ 
temper are the characteristics of Lord John Russell, and these peculiarljJj' 
fit him for taking a distinguished part in public life. The only obstacle tcij 
his success seems to me to be the natural reserve of his manners, M hich,7I 
by leading people to think him cold and proud, may preclude him fromfl 
exciting that wami sentiment of personal attachment rarely accorded except 
to those whose uniform friendly demeanour excites and strengthens it.''' 
Another writer says : "He has no pretensions to the rank of an orator : a 
without originality, unaided by force or brilliancy, mediocrity is the be^>t ' 
word to describe his intellect." — Roebuck's " JV/iig Ministry ^/iSso." 



Sir Walter Scott. 



387 



me all the morning, and a most delightful morning have we 
Ihad. Scott operated on us like champagne and whisky mixed. 
I In the course of conversation he alluded to ^'Waverley there 
was a dead silence. Wilkie, who was talking to him, stopped, 
' and looked so agitated, you would have thought that he was the 
author. I was bursting to have a good round at him, but as 
this was his first visit I did not venture. It is singular how 
Isuccess and the want of it operate on two extraordinary men, 
jWalter Scott and Wordsworth. Scott enters a room, and sits 
'at table, with the coolness and self-possession of conscious 
fame ; Wordsworth with a mortified elevation of head, as if 
fearful he was not estimated as he deserved. Scott is always 
cool and very amusing .... the companion of nature in all 
her feelings and freaks.—^. R. Hay don. 

It appears certain that his works must have produced to the 
author or his trustees at the very least half a 7nillion of money I 
— W. Howitt. 

On Friday last the poetically great Walter Scott came, like 
a sunbeam, to my dwelHng. This proudest boast of the 
Caledonian muse is tall, and rather robust than slender, but 
lame, in the same manner as Mr. Hayley, and in a greater 
measure. Neither the contour of his face nor yet his features 
are elegant ; his complexion healthy, and somewhat fair, with- 
out bloom. We find the singularity of brown hair and eye- 
• [ashes, with flaxen eyebrows, and a countenance open, ingenuous, 
and benevolent. When seriously conversing or earnestly 
attentive, though his eyes are rather of a lightish grey, deep 
thought is on their lids ; he contracts his brow, and the fays 
Df genius gleam aslant from the orbs beneath them. An upper 
[ip too long prevents his mouth from being decidedly hand- 
some, but the sweetest emanations of temper and heart play 
ibout it when he talks cheerfully or smiles, and in conversation 
he is much oftener gay than contemplative. — A7i7ia Seward. 

In my humble opinion, Walter Scott's sense is a still more 
^ vonderful thing than his genms. — Lord Cockhurn. 

Dear Sir Walter Scott and myself were exact but harmonious 
Dpposites in this — ^^that every ruin, hill, river, or tree called up 
n his mind a host of historical or biographical associations, just 
IS a bright pan of brass when beaten is said to attract the 
5warming bees ; whereas for myself, notwithstanding Dr. 
[ohnson, I believe I should walk over the plain of Marathon 
vithout taking more interest in it than in any other plain 

cc 2 



388 Sir Walter Scott — James Montgomery, 



of similar features When I am very ill indeed I can 

read Scott's novels, and they are almost the only books I can 
then read. — Coleridge, 

James Montgomery. 
1771-1854. 

It may be said that nature never infused into a human com- 
position a greater portion of kindness and general philanthropy. 
A heart more sensibly alive to every better, as well as every 
finer feeling, never beat in a human breast. Perhaps no two 
individuals in manners, pursuits, character, and composition, 
ever more exactly corresponded with each other than Mont- 
gomery and Cowper. The same benevolence of heart, the 
same modesty of deportment, the same purity of life, the same 
attachment to literary pursuits, the same fondness for solitude 
and retirement from the public haunts of men; and to complete 
the picture, the same ardent feeling in the cause of religion, 
and the same disposition to gloom and melancholy. His 
person, which is rather below the middle stature, is neatly 
formed ; his features have the general expression of simplicity 
and benevolence, rendered more interesting by a hue of melan- 
choly that pervades them. When animated by conversation, 
his eye is uncommonly brilliant, and his whole countenance is 
full of intelligence. — Atioii., quoted by W. Hountt. 

The longer his fame endures and the wider it spreads, the 
better it will be for virtue and for man. — W. Hoiuitt. 

Poor Montgomery, though praised by every English Review, 
has been bitterly reviled by the Edijiburgh. After all, the bard 
of Sheffield is a man of considerable genius. His Wanderer 
of Switzerland " is worth a thousand " Lyrical Ballads," and at 
least fifty " degraded epics. — Byron, 



With broken lyre and cheek serenely pale, 

Lo ! sad AlciEus wanders do^^'n the vale ; 

Though fair they rose, and might have bloom'd at last, 

His hopes have perish'd by the northern blast. 

Nipp'd in the bud by Caledonian gales, ^ 

His blossoms wither as the blast prevails ! 1 

O'er his lost works let classic wSheffield weep : 

May no rude hand disturb their early sleep. 

E7iglish Bards and Scotch Revinvcrsy . 



James Montgomery — James Hogg. 



389 



There is something in all his poetry which makes fiction the 
fnost impressive teacher of truth and wisdom \ and by which, 
jwhile the intellect is gratified and the imagination roused, the 
theart, if it retains any sensibihty to tender or elevating emotions, 
'pnnot fail to be made better. — Edinburgh Revietv, 1835. 

We think of James Montgomery — and what strains of 
fieavenly melody arise ! — yok7i Wilso7i» 



James Hogg. 
1772-1835. 

i There was an absence of individuality in him. There was 
-nothing except that singular egotism and somewhat extravagant 
fancy which could lead you on reading a poem of his to say, 
that is Hogg and can be no one else. His poems are generally 
extremely diffuse ; they surprise and charm you on opening 
them, at the vigour, liveliness, and strength of the style, but 
they are of that kind that the further you go the more this 
charm wears off ; you grow weary you hardly know why ; you 
cannot help protesting to yourself that they are very clever, 
nay, wonderful ; yet there wants a certain soul, a condensation, 
a something to set upon them the stamp of that genius which 
seizes on your love and admiration beyond question or control. 
— W. Howitt 

Oh ! I have had the most amusing letter from Hogg, the 
Ettrick minstrel and shepherd. He wants me to recommend 
him to Murray ; and speaking of his present bookseller, whose 
bills " are never " lifted," he adds totidem verbis^ " God d — 
him and them both !" I laughed, and so would you too, at 
the way in which this execration is introduced. The said 
Hogg is a strange being, but of great though uncouth powers. 
I think very highly of him as a poet ; but he and half of these 
Scotch and Lake troubadours are spoilt by living in little 
circles and petty societies. — Byron, 

A true son of nature and genius, hardly conscious of his 
powers. He had taught himself to write by copying the letters 
of a printed book as he lay watching his flock on the hill-side, 
and had possibly reached the utmost pitch of his ambition 
w^hen he first found that his artless rhymes could touch the 
tieart of the ewe-milker who partook the shelter of his mantle 



Hwm* 



390 Jafftcs Hogg. 



during the passing storm. As yet his naturally kind and simph i 
character had not been exposed to any of the dangerous : 
flatteries of the world ; his heart was pure — his enthusiasn * 
buoyant as that of a happy child ; and well knew tin 

reflection, sagacity, i^isdom, and wit were S( . abundantly 

among the humblest rangers of these pastoral solitudes, th^ i 
was here a depth and brightness that filled him with womK i 
combined with a fjiinintness of humour and a thousand liii 
touches v\ "1 him v rtainmeiu 

as I have i ; . i the bes: > tbnt ( w 

set the pit in a roar. — Lo<kharts Life of Scouy^ 

1 have now touched on those incidents in the earhu \ » 
my brother's life, that appear to have cherished that propensity 
to • ' . ^1 to his ' ' lind, aniids 

al . is of a! ^ lure. Hi- 

ill w is (|uiie an over])oise for h ni. Sanguint 

in ^ cs, the world hath once and - .-appointed hin 

and ruined him, because he formed his opinions of men an(> 
the world rather from • \ should be, than from what they 
really are : hence he i- nted whenever he slei)S out to 

tr. ' ss with ilitui. 1 he vivacity of his imagination 

di-j in also from study and research. Present any 

intricate question to him for solution, his mind grasps it an< * 
penades it with the rapidity of thought, as it really is ; but i 
it miss solution, he cannot return to it again. The powers of 
his mind arc so disordered by the raj^idity of their first applica- 
tion, that they cannot for a long time be again collected to re- 
consider the subject His judgment, once battled and over- 
]^(»w.re,l. ran hardly be brought again to renew the attack, or 



* Lockhan tells a droll story of Hogg: The shepherd was inviid l.y 
Scott to dinner. He came dresse<l '*j>recb»ely as any ordinan- hr- ' !ir n l 
attends cattle to the market." Mrs. Scott, being in a deli 
health, was reclining on a sofa. The shepherd, after being \ 
making his best bow, forthwith took f>ossession of another sola pLi 
opposite hers, and stretched himself thereupon at all his length, for, a- 
said afterwards, I thought I could never do^^Tong to copy the lady of 
house." His foul shoes and greasy hands smearetl the ciiintz ; but He 
saw nothing. He dined heartily, and drank freely. He jested, sang, t< 
stories. Soon the wine operated, and let loose his vulgarity. From **M 
Scott " he got to *' Sherra," from Sherra " to '* Scott," from Scott ' 
*' Walter," from ** Walter" to ** Wattie," and finished by calling M 
Scou **Chariolte," which, says Lockhart, fairly conw^c! Hk- wl 
party."— Ed. 



James Hogg — Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 391 



^ if it does, it is with diminished force, and more uncertain 
action. — William Hogg} 

AVhen Hogg visited London, a literary friend took him to 
vlie Opera, where the Shepherd soon gave unequivocal 
Symptoms of drowsiness ; yet to any inquiry implying a doubt 

' of his feeling entertained, he replied, " Eh ! I like it gae well, 
sir." When he did give his attention to any portion of the 
performance, his eyes were observed to be fixed on Mr. Costa, 
the conductor. At length he could restrain his curiosity no 
longer, but exclaimed, Wha, and what the deil's that fallow 
that keeps aye ///if/d'-ing yon ?" — ''''Records of a Veteran!' 

\ 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 
1772-1834. 

Coleridge's ballad of the " Ancient Mariner" is, I think, the 
( iwmsiest attempt at German sublimity I ever saw. — Soiit/iey, 

The rapt One of the godlike forehead. 
The heaven-eyed creature. — Wordsiuoi^th. 

I expect neither profit nor general fame by my writings; 
and I consider myself as having been amply repaid with- 
out either. Poetry has been to me its own "exceeding great 
reward ; " it has soothed my afflictions, it has multipHed and 
refined my enjoyments, it has endeared solitude, and it has 
- given me the habit of wishing to discover the Good and Beautiful 
in all that meets and surrounds me. — Coleridge. 

\ Though themes of innocence amuse him best, 

' Yet still obscurity's a welcome guest. — Byro?i. 

Coleridge has undoubtedly given considerable impulse to 
thought in this country, and dissipated the eji?itn SYhich. the more 
energetic minds felt in travelling over the smooth macadamized 
road of modern EngHsh Hterature, where every mile brought back 

the same prospect He put before them statements which 

they could not understand ; hinted at mysteries ; indulged in 
a strange uncouth phraseology which awakened attention as a 
new language, and first taught young minds their own weakness, 
and then encouraged them to undertake exercise which would 



^ Hogg's elder brother. 



i 



392 



Scuniucl Taylor Coleridge, 



create strength. We are far from thinking Coleridge a safe or 
sound writer ; but he has done good : he opened one eye of the 
sleeping intellect of this country, and the whole body is now 
l)eginning to show signs of animation. — Quarterly Rreicu\ 

Come l3ack into memory, like as tliou wert in the day- 
spring of tliy fancies, with hope like a fiery column before thee, 
the dark pillar not yet named — Samuel Taylor Coleridge — 
magician, metaphysician, bard ! How have I seen the casual 
passer through the cloisters stand still, entranced with admira- 
tion (while he weighed the disproportion between \\\tspaxh and 
the,i,'"< ?/'-/' of the young Mirandula) to hear thee unfold, in thy deep 
and sweet intonations, the mysteries of Jamblichus or Plotinus 
(for even in those years thou waxedst not pale at such philo- 
sophic draughts), or reciting Homer in his Greek or Pindar. . . . — 
Lamb. 

I am grieved that you never met Coleridge ; all other men 
whom I have ever known are mere children to him, and yet all 
is palsied by a total want of moral strength. He will leave 
nothing behind him to justify the opinions of his friends to the 
world ; yet many of his scattered poems are such that a man 
of feeling will see that the author was capable of executing the 
greatest works. — SoutJiey} 

I dislike his tergiversation and his subtleties. I admire his 
genius, but not the manner in which upon the whole he has 
used it ; I think him a martyr to indolence, to extremes, to dis- 
appointed enthusiasm, to a ready metaphysical faculty of over- 
refining, and talking on any side of any subject. — Leigh 
Hunt, 

In Bridgewater I noticed a gateway, standing under which 
was a man corresponding to the description given me of Cole- 
ridge, whom I shall presently describe. In height he seemed 
to be five feet eight inches ; in reality he was about an inch and 
a half taller, though in the latter part of life, from a lateral cur- 
vature in the spine, he shortened gradually from two to three 
inches. His person was broad and full, and tended even to cor- 
pulence ; his complexion was fair, though not what painters 
technically style fair, because it was associated with black hair ; 
his eyes were large and soft in their expression, and it was by 
a peculiar appearance of haze or dimness which mixed with 



^ In a letter to ^Ir. Taylor, of Xorwich, the learned German translator, of 
whom Sydney Smith said, " It takes nine men to make a Taylor." — Ed. 



Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 



393 



their light that I recognised my object. This was Coleridge. 
I examined him steadily for a moment or more, and it struck me 
that he neither saw myself nor any other object in the street. 
He was in deep reverie, for I had dismounted, made two or 
three trifling aiTangements at the inn door, and advanced close 
to him before he seemed apparently conscious of my presence. 
The sound of my voice announcing my name first awoke him. 
He stared, and for a moment seemed at a loss to understand 
my purpose or his own situation, for he repeated rapidly a 
number of words which had no relation to either of us. — De 
Quincey. 

You will see Coleridge ; he who sits obscure 

In the exceeding lustre, and the pure 

Intense irradiation of a mind 

Which, with its own internal lustre blind, 

Flags wearily through darkness and despair— 

A cloud-encircled meteor of the air, 

A hooded eagle among blinking owls. — Shelley, 

No man has all the resources of poetry in such profusion, 
but he cannot manage them so as to bring out anything of his 
own on a large scale at all worthy of his genius. He is like a 
lump of coal rich with gas, which lies expending itself in puffs 
and gleams, unless some shrewd body will clap it into a cast- 
iron box, and compel the compressed element to do itself 
justice. His fancy and diction would long ago have placed 
him above all his contemporaries had they been under the 
direction of a sound judgment and a steady will. — Sir Walter 
Scott, 

Coleridge was a marvellous talker. One morning when 
Hookham Frere also breakfasted with me, Coleridge talked 
for three hours without intermission about poetry, and so 
admirably that I wish every word he had uttered had 
been written down. But sometimes his harangues were quite 
unintelligible, not only to myself, but to others. Wordsworth 
and I called upon him one forenoon, when he was in a lodging 
off Pall Mall. He talked uninterruptedly for about two hours, 
during which Wordsworth listened to him with profound atten- 
tion, every now and then nodding his head, as if in assent. On 
quitting the lodgings, I said to Wordsworth, ^'Well, for my 
part, I could not make head or tail of Coleridge's oration ; pray 
did you understand it ?" Not one syllable of it," was Words- 
worth's reply. — Rogers, 



394 



Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 



He who has seen a mouldering tower by the side of a crystal 
lake, hid by the mist, but glittering in the \fave below, may 
conceive the dim, gleaming, uncertain intelligence of his eye. 
He who has marked the evening clouds uproUed (a world of 
vai)Ours) has seen the picture of his mind, unearthly, unsub- 
stantial, with gorgeous tints and ever-varying forms. — Hazlitt. 

The C)|)ium-Kater" calls Coleridge the largest and most 
spacious intellect, the subtlest and "most comprehensive that 
lias yet existed amongst men." Impiety to Shakspeare I treason 
to Milton ! I give up the rest, even Bacon. Certainly since 
their day we have seen nothing at all comi)arable to him. ]]yron 
and Scott were but as gun-Hints to a granite mountain ; Words- 
worth has one angle of resemblance. — W. S, Landor, 

Coleridge learnt little from others, and wrought out the 
principles and elements of his composition, both in prose and 
l)oelry, from the stores of his own singular genius ; although in 
details he was at times, like Lord Byron, an unconscionable 
plagiarist. The supernatural imagery of his " Christabel," for 
example, is something of a peculiar and exquisite cast, which 
stands unri\alled in modern poetry. By the side of the 
mysterious Geraldine, the familiar spirits of Scott and Byron 
seem as corporeal and robust as the sturdy theatrical ghost 
which used to occupy the chair of Banquo at Macbeth's 
haunted feast. But the originality of the form of versification, 
first introduced to English readers by that poem, seems a little 
more questionable, although contended for by the admirers 
of the writer. Whether the first edition of Goethe's Faust," 
published in 1790, could have been known to the author of 

Christabel"' before his visit to Germany (the first part of it 
having been ^^Titten, according to himself, in 1797), we do not 
knoAv : probably the forthcoming account of his life will clear 
up all doubts on that point. If not, it is a curious coincidence 
that the two ^^Titers s?iould have been each the first to produce, 
in his respective country, that singular metre now so fashion- 
able, in which the verse is measured, not by syllables, but by 
cadences ] and that both should have dedicated it to similar 
subjects of wild, unearthly interest. This would not be the only 
unacknowledged debt due from Coleridge to Goethe. There 
is in the Friend" a splendid passage, describing the tempta- 
tions of Luther in his cell at Wartburg, which, although more 
high wrought, more varied and animated, is entirely borrowed, 
in substance^ from that scene in " Faust" where the doctor is 



Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 



395 



introduced labouring on a translation of the New Testament. 
Such plagiarisms are. we fear, common enough throughout 
Coleridge's works. In some recent papers respecting him, 
published in one of the monthly magazines, the writer (one 
of the few to be found in England who is qualified to detect 
thefts from a store so little explored) asserts that whole pas- 
sages in the "Biographia Literaria" are mere translations, without 
acknowledgment, from Schelling. — Edinhiu^gh Review^ 1^35- 

The Phenomenon, and the Monarch of the Monologue.— 
Pi'ofessor Wilson. 

There is one region in which imagination has ever loved to 
walk — now in glimmer and now in gloom, and now even in 
daylight ; but it must be a night-like day — where Coleridge 
surpasses all poets but Shakspeare — nor do we fear to 
say where he equals Shakspeare. That region is the preter- 
natural. Some of Scott's works strongly excite the feelings 
of superstitious fear and traditional awe But in pro- 
digious power and irresistible, the "Ancient Mariner" 
bears off the bell from them all, which he tolls till the sky 
grows too dismal to be endured j and what witch at once so 
foul and so fair, so felt to be fatal in her fearful beauty, an 
apparition of bliss and of bale — as the stately Lady Geraldine ? 
What angel, in her dread, so delicate as she — the Dove of her 
own Dream — fascinated to death by that hissing serpent — like 
the meek, pure, pious Christabel, whose young virgin life 
has been wholly dedicated to her Father and her God ? — Black- 
wood^ 1834. 

Spirit ! so oft in radiant freedom soaring 

High through seraphic miysteries unconhned. 

And oft a diver through the deeps of mind. 

Its caverns, far below its waves, exploring ; 

And oft such strains of breezy music pouring. 

As, with the floating sweetness of their sighs, 

Could still all fevers of the heart, restoring 

Awhile that freshness left in Paradise ; 

Say, of these glorious wanderings what the goal ? 

What the rich fruitage, to man's kindred soul 

From toil of thine bequeathed ? — Oh, strong, and high, 

And sceptred intellect ! thy goal confest 

Was the Redeemer's cross — thy last bequest, 

07ie lesson, breathing thence profound humility ! 

Mrs, Hemans, 



396 



Robert Southey. 
1774-1S43. 

Soutliey I liave not seen much of. His appearance is cpiL\ 
and he is the only existing entire man of letters. All the 
others have some pursuits annexed to their authorship. His 
manners are mild, but not those of a man of the world, and 
his talents of the first order. His prose is perfect. Of his 
poetry there are various opinions ; there is, perhaps, too much 
of it for the present generation ; posterity will probably select. 
He has passages et^ual to anything. At present he has a par/y^ 
but no public — except for his prose writings. — Byron} 

His poems, taken in the mass, stand far higher than his prose 
works. His official Odes, indeed, among which the " Vision 
of Judgment " must be classed, are, for the most part, worse 
than Pyc's, and as bad as Gibber's ; nor do we think him gene- 
rally ha[)py in short pieces. But his longer poems, though full 
of faults, are nevertheless very extraordinary productions. We 
doubt greatly whether they will be read fifty years hence ; but 
that, if they are read they will be admired, we have no doubt 
whatever. — Alacaulay. 

A gentleman who is distinguished, among many other talents, 
for an unrivalled felicity in expressing the peculiar manner of 
authors whom he translates or imitates. — Hallavu 

Whether he traced historic truth with zeal 
For the State's guidance or the Church's weal ; 
Or fancy, disciplined by studious art, 
Informed his pen, or wisdom of the heart. 
Or judgments sanctioned in the patriot's mind 
By reverence for the rights of human kind, 
Large were his aims. — Wordsworth, 



You Bob ! are rather insolent, you know, 

At being disappointed in your wish 
To supersede all warblers here below, 

And be the only Blackbird in the dish ; 
And then you overstrain yourself, or so, 

And tumble downward like the flying fish, 
Gasping on deck, because you soar too high. Bob, 
And fall, for lack of moisture, quite a-dry, Bob ! — Don Juan:'' 



Robert SoiUhey. 



397 



Southey, whom I had never seen before, I liked much ; he is 
very pleasant in his manner, and a man of great reading in old 
books, poetry, chronicles, memoirs, &c., &c., particularly 
Spanish and Portuguese. — Wordswoiih. 

I like him exceedingly ; he has the finest poetical counte- 
nance, features unusually high, and somewhat strong though 
regular ; a quantity of bushy black hair, worn carelessly, but not 
with affected negligence ; deep-set, but very animated black eyes, 
and a countenance serious and collected, but kindling into 
ardour when animated in conversation. I have heard Southey 
called silent and restrained ; I did not find him so ; he talked 
easily and much, without seeming in the least consequential or 
saying a single word for effect. On the contrary, he con- 
verses with the feeling and earnestness of one who speaks to 
relieve a full mind. — Mrs. Grant's '•^ Letters.'^ 

I believe you are right about Southey's poetry, and cry 
mercy to it accordingly. He went to it too mechanically, and 
with too much nonchalance ; and the consequence was, a vast 
many words to little matter. Nor had he the least music in 
him at all. The consequence of which was, that he wrote 
prose out into lyrical wild shapes, and took the appearance of 
it for verse. — Leigh Hunt. 

There is a want of the spiritual in his writing. Beautiful 
fancy, and tender feeling, and sometimes deep devotion there 
are ; but still there lacks that spirit, that essence of the soul, 
which makes Wordsworth and many of the poems of Lord 
Byron a never satiating aliment. — W. Howitt. 

He has fancy, imagination, taste — he is facile and flowing in 
his versification — most musical, if you will — but he is too 
smooth and level, he seldom or never rises with his subject; 
he will stand criticism as far as words go, but no further ; he 
moves, but does not touch the heart. One reads him with 
delight once, but never takes him up a second time. — Shelley, 

In all his domestic relations Southey was the most amiable 
of men ; but he had no general philanthropy : he was what you 
call a cold man. He was never happy except when reading a 
book or making one. Coleridge once said to me, I can't think 
of Southey without seeing him either using or mending a pen." — 
Rogers. 

A few years ago some young men of Oxford and Cambridge 
formed the design of going to America in order to realize a 
Pantisocracy. They intended to devote themselves to litera- 



398 



Robert SoHtluy, 



ture and agriculture ; to accumulate no property, but have a 
common stock. Of this number were two very ingenious 
modern poets, Robert Southey, the author of an epic poem 
entitled Joan of Arc," and other poems, and S. T. Coleridge, 
the author of a volume of poems. These two young poets arc 
ec[ually distinguished for their ardent love of literature ; the 
former more remarkable for his powers of descrii)tion and for 
exciting the softer feelings of benevolence ; the latter for 
rich and jDowerful imagination. — George Dyer. 

The true character of Southey. ... is not to be sought in 
his greater poems, nor in the set tasks of his laureate workman- 
ship. These are elaborate studies — exercises of literary skill. 
The si)irit of tlie poet is to be found in his minor pieces, the 
more vigorous and less trained offspring of his genius. First 
and foremost among these are his ballads. In them he is 
really an original and creative writer. — Edinburgh Revieiu^ i^39- 

That scheme of head, heart, and habitual demeanour, which 
in his early manhood and first controversial writings, Milton, 
claiming the privilege of self-defence, asserts of himself, and 
challenges his calumniators to disprove : this will his school- 
mates, his fellow-collegians, and his maturer friends, with a 
confidence proportioned to the intimacy of their knowledge, 
bear witness to as again realized in the life of Robert Southey. 
But still more striking to those who, by biography or by their 
own experience are familiar with the general habits of genius, 
will api)ear the poet's matchless industry and perseverance in 
his pursuits ; the worthiness and dignity of those pursuits ; his 
generous submission to tasks of transitory interest, or such as 
his genius alone could make otherwise ; and that having thus 
more than satisfied the claims of affection or prudence, he 
should yet have made for himself time and power to achieve 
more, and in more various departments, than almost any other 
^^Titer has done, though employed wholly on subjects of his 
o\ni choice and ambition. But as Southey possesses, and is 
not possessed by, his genius, even so is he master even of his 
virtues. The regular and methodical tenor of his daily 
labours, which would be deemed rare in the most mechanical 
pursuits, and might be envied in the mere man of business, 
loses all semblance of formality in the dignified simplicity of 
his manners, in the spring and healthful cheerfulness of his 
spirits. Always employed, his friends find him always at 
leisure. No less punctual in trifles than steadfast in the per- 



Robert Sotithey — Charles Lamb, 399 

formance of highest duties, he inflicts none of those small 
pains and discomforts which irregular men scatter about them, 
and which, in the aggregate, so often become formidable ob- 
stacles both to happiness and utility : while, on the contrary, 
he bestows all the pleasures, and inspires all that ease of mind 
in those around him, or connected with him, which perfect 
consistency, and (if such a w^ord might be framed) absolute 
7'eliability^ equally in small as in great concerns, cannot but 
inspire and bestow ; when this, too, is softened, without being 
weakened, by kindness and gentleness. I know few men who 
so well deserve the character which an ancient attributes to 
Marcus Cato — namely, that he was likest virtue, inasmuch as he 
seemed to act aright, not in obedience to any law or outward 
motive, but by the necessity of a happy nature, which could 
not act otherwise. As son, brother, husband, father, master, 
friend, he moves with firm yet light steps, alike unostentatious, 
and alike exemplary. As a writer, he has uniformly made his 
talents subservient to the best interests of humanity, of public 
virtue, and domestic piety : his cause has ever been the cause 
of pure religion and of liberty, of national independence and 
of national illumination. — Coleridge, 

Charles Lamb. 
1775-1834. 

Charles Lamb, born in the Inner Temple, loth of February, 
1775, educated in Christ's Hospital ; afterwards a clerk in the 
Accountant's Office, East India House ; pensioned off from 
that service 1825, after 33 years' service \ is now a gentleman 
at large; can remember few specialities in his life worth noting, 
except that he once caught a swallow flying {teste sitct vianu) ; 
below the middle stature ; cast of face slightly Jewish, with no 
Judaic tinge in his complexional religion ; stammers abomi- 
nably, and is therefore more apt to discharge his occasional 
conversation in a quaint aphorism or a poor quibble, than in 
set and edifying speeches ; has consequently been libelled as a 
person always aiming at wit, which, as he told a dull fellow 
that charged him with it, is at least as good as aiming at dul- 
ness. A small eater, but not drinker; confesses a partiahty 
for the production of the juniper berry ; was a fierce smoker 
of tobacco, but may be resembled to a volcano burnt out, 



400 



Charles Lavih. 



emitting only now and then a casual puft'. Has been guilty of 
obtruding upon the public a tale in prose, called " Rosamund 
Gray ; " a dramatic sketch, entitled " John Woodvil ; " a Fare- 
well Ode to Tobacco; " with sundry other poems and light prose 
matter, collected in two slight crown octavos, and pompously 
christened ''His Works," thougli in fact they were his recreations, 
and his true works may be found on the shelves of Leadenhall 
Street, filling some hundred folios. He is also the true Elia," 
whose essays are extant in a little volume, published a year or 
two since, and rather better known from that name without a 
meaning, than from anything he has done or can hope to do 
in his own. He also was the first to draw attention to the old 
I'Lnglish dramatists in a work called " Specimens of English 
Dramatic Writers who lived about the time of Shakspeare," 
iniblished about fifteen years since. — Charles Lamb. 

At the centre of his being, lodged 

A soul bv resignation sanctified. 

* ' ♦ * ♦ « 

C), he was good, if e'er a good man lived ! 

Wordsii'orih. 

We admire his genius ; we love the kind nature which ap- 
pears in all his writings ; and we cherish his memory as much 
as if we had known him personally. — Macaulay. 

In his countenance you might sometimes read — what may 
occasionally be read on all foreheads — the letters and lines of 
old, forgotten calamity. Vet there was at the bottom of his 
nature a buoyant self-restraining strength ; for though he en- 
countered frecjuent seasons of mental distress, his heart re- 
covered itself in the interval, and rose and sounded like music 
played to a happy tune. Upon fit occasion his lips could shut 
in a firm fashion ; but the gentle smile that played about his 
face showed that he was always ready to relent. His quick 
eye never had any sullenness; his mouth, tender and tremulous, 
showed that there could be nothing cruel or inflexible in his 
nature. — Procter. 

His sensibility to strong contrasts was the foundation of his 
humour, which was that of a wit at once melancholy and willing 
to be pleased. — Leigh LIunt. 

He would beard a superstition and shudder at the old 
phantasm while he did it. One could have imagined him 
cracking a joke in the teeth of a ghost, and then melting into 
thin air himself out of S}-mpathy with the awful. — Lbid, 



Charles Lamb. 



401 



His style runs pure and clear, though it may often take an 
underground course, or be conveyed through old-fashioned 

conduits There is a fine tone of chiaro-oscuro, a moral 

perspective in his writings. He delights to dwell on that which 
is fresh to the eye of memory ; he yearns after and covets 
what smooths the frailty of human nature. That touches him 
most nearly which is withdrawn to a certain distance, which 
verges on the border of oblivion ; that piques and provokes 
his fancy most which is hid from a superficial glance. That 
which, though gone by, is still remembered, is in his view more 
genuine, and has given more signs that it will live, tha.n a thing 
of yesterday that may be forgotten to-morrow. Death has in 
this sense the spirit of life in it ; and the shadowy has to our 
author something substantial. — Hazlitt. 

Lamb was the slave of quip and whimsey ; he stuttered out 
puns to the detriment of all serious conversation, and twice or 
so in the year he was overtaken in Hquor. Well, in spite of 
these things, perhaps on account of these things, I love his 
memory. For love and charity ripened in that nature as 
peaches ripen on the wall that fronts the sun. Although he 
did not blow his trumpets in the corners of the streets, he 
was tried as few men are, and fell not. He jested that he 
might not weep. He wore a martyr's heart beneath his suit of 
motley. — A. Smith. 

Lamb stuttered his quaintness in snatches, like the fool in 
" Lear,'' and with equal beauty. — B, Haydon, 

Lamb's wit requires a word or two of analysis for itself. 
Wit is not humour, nor is humour wit. Cunning is neither, 
and the grotesque is a fourth power greater than all. Lamb 
had all these, not separately each as such, but massed together 
in the strangest intellectual compound seen in man. And even 
besides these he had an intellectual something — a Lambism — 
about him, which defied naming or description. He stammered 
— the stammer went for something in producing the effect ; he 
would adjure a small piece for the nonce — it gave weight ; 
perhaps he drank a glass of punch ; believe us, it all told. It 
follows that Lamb's good things cannot be repeated. — Quarterly 
Review^ 

BeUeve me, no one is competent to judge of poor dear 
Charles who has not known him long and well, as I have done. 
His heart is as whole as his head. The wild words which 
sometimes came from him on religious subjects might startle 

DD 



402 



Charles Lamb — Jane Austen, 



you from the mouth of any other man ; but in liim they are 
mere flashes of firework. If an argument seems to him not 
wholly true, he will burst out in that odd way ; yet his will — 
the inward man — is, I well know, i)rofoundly religious and 
devout. Catch him when alone, and the great odds are you 
will find him with the Bible or an old divine before him — or 
may be, and that is the next door in excellence, an old English 
poet : in such is his pleasure. — Co/eridge, Tabic Talk'' 

Once and once only have I seen thy face, 
Elia I Once only has thy tripping tongue 
Run o'er my heart, yet ne\ er has been left 
Impression on it stronger or more sweet. 
Cordial old man I what youth was in thy years, 
AVhat wisdom in thy levity, what soul 
In every utterance of thy purest breast ! 
Of all that ever wore man's form, 'tis thee 
I first would spring to at the gates of heaven. 

/F. S, Land or. 



Jane Austen. 

Shakspeare has neither equal nor second. But among the 
writers who .... have approached nearest to the manner of 
the great master, we have no hesitation in placing Jane Austen, 
a woman of whom England may justly be proud. She has 
given us a multitude of characters, all in a certain senscj 
commonplace, all such as we meet every day. Yet they are I 
all as perfectly discriminated fi*om each other as if they weret 
the most eccentric of human beings. — Macaulay. 

Miss Austen is only shrewd and observant. — C. Bronte. 

One of the greatest writers, one of the greatest painters of 
human character, and one of the wTiters with the nicest sense 
of means to an end that ever lived. — G. H. Leiues. 

By the way, did you know Jane Austen, authoress of some 
novels which have a great deal of nature in them ? nature in 
ordinar}^ and middle life, to be sure, but valuable from its 
strong resemblance and correct drawing ? I wonder which wa} 
she carried her pail ? — Scott to yoanmi Baillie, 

Miss Austen has never been so popular as she deserved tG 



Jane Austen— Walter Savage Landor, 



403 



be. Intent on fidelity of delineation, and averse to the com- 
'monplace tricks of her art, she has not in this age of literary 
! quackery received her reward. Ordinary readers have been 
japt to judge of her as Partridge, in Fielding's novel, judged of 

Garrick She was too natural for them. It seemed to 

them as if there could be very Httle merit in making people act 
and talk so exactly like the people they saw around them every 
day. They did not consider that the highest triumph of art 
consists in its concealment ; and here the art was so little per- 
iceptible that they believed there was none. — Edinburgh Re- 
view, 1830. 

Walter Savage Landor. 
1775-1864. 

Walter Savage Landor, remarkable it might be truly said 
jboth for his talents and the unsuccessful employment of them, 
with a name extensively known and productions universally 
unknown ; having eloquence and dignity of style which men 
are willing to receive upon trust, and publishing books which 
meet with every kind of reception except a perusal — Church of 
Eiigland Qttarterly Review, 

Ten accomplished men are esteemed by me a sufficient 
audience. — W. S. Landor. 

His lack of spirituality is his chief defect. His elevation^ 
Iwhen he is elevated, springs from the force of eloquence. He 
is nervous, bold in argument, unsparing of sarcasm. He en- 
livens his pages with wit, with anecdote, with jests; he passes 
adroitly from topic to topic ; calls in to his aid sometimes senti- 
ment, sometimes passion, sometimes reason ; displays a degree 
of knowledge rarely possessed by an author — a familiarity with 
all times, and nearly all countries \ a perfect acquaintance with 
the laws of arts and criticism. — Douglas yei^rold, 
! Walter Savage Landor is one of those men who are sent into 
the world strong to teach. Strong in mind and body, strong 
in the clear sense of the right and the true, they walk unen- 
jcumbered by prejudices, unshackled by fears. — W. Howitt, 

He is too violent, too intolerant in his censures, ever to 
admit of the playfulness of satire. The animosity by which he 
appears to be actuated against every statesman of his time is as 
injurious to his witticism as it is dishonourable to his judg- 

D D 2 



404 



Walter Savage Landor, 



ment. If it be true (as he himself assures us, and we will not 
here take it upon ourselves to dispute) that his Conversations' 5 
are destined for immortality — if those two fingers" and that c 

pen" mark out wliomsoever he pleases for eternal applause or 
infamy — wliat black, hideous, and distorted portraits of some of 
the most illustrious of his contemporaries are fated to descend \ 
to future generations ! — Quarterly Rciuciu^ 1837. 

Mr. Landor's mind is far from barren in feeling or in re- 
sources ; but over the natural and (what might be) the useful 
growth of these there everywhere s})rings up a luxuriant crop of , 
caprice, dogmatism, extravagance, intolerance, quaintness, and I 
most ludicrous arrogance — like the red and blue flowers in corn, I 
that, however they may dazzle the passenger's eye, choke up 
the harvest and mock the hopes of the husbandmen. — Edin- 
liurj^h Rri irw, 1S24. 

When a large portion of the prose literature of our time that 
has acquired celebrity, shall have lost its renown, or be remem- 
bered merely on account of an ephemeral celebrity, the Ima- 
ginary Conversations" of Walter Savage Landor will live in 
honour and flourish far and wide. There are intellectual gifts 
and graces of no ordinary kind exhibited in his prose produc- > 
tions : wonderful acquirements, scholarship of a genuine kind — | 
massiveness of mind — keenness and subtlety of perception — 
earnestness and enthusiasm — geniality of disposition — tender- 
ness of heart, and a noble love of everything in nature good \ 
and beautiful. The poetry of Mr. Landor, in all probability, is 
not destined to the same immortality, and possibly few critics ■ 
will imagine that any considerable portion of it is deserving j 
even of passing commendation at the hands of his contem-f 
poraries. — Dr. Aladdcn. 

I had learned from his works to form a high opinion of the 
man as well as the author. But I was not prepared to find ini 
him the courdy polished gendeman of high breeding, ofl 
manners, deportment, and demeanour that one might expect to 
meet with in one who had passed the greater pordon of his life ; 
in courts. There is no affectation of politeness, no finikin j 
aftabiUty in his urbanity, no far-fetched complimentary hyper- 1 
bolical strain of eulogy in the agremais of his conversation^ 
with women, and the pleasing things he says to them whom he 
cares to please. — Lady Blessington. 

While I thank you for your introduction to Sir William Cell, I ^ 
ought not to forget that to Landor, who was particularly kind | 



Walter Savage Landof -^Matthew Gregory Lezvis, 405 

t to me, and whom I liked exceedingly. One is at home in- 
Istantly with men of real genius : their oddities, their humours, 
t don't put one out half so much as the formal regularity of your 
r half-clever prigs. But Landor, thanks to your introduction, 
f had no humours, no oddities for me. He invited me to his 
1 villa, which is charmingly situated, and smoothed himself down 
so much that I thought him one of the best-bred men I ever 
• met, as well as one of the most really able (pity, nevertheless, 
1 so far as his talent is concerned, that he pets paradoxes so 
f much : he keeps them as other people keep dogs, coaxes them, 
i plays with them, and now and then sets them to bite a disagree- 
i, able intruder). — Lord Lytton^ " Correspondence.^^ 
'] Landor had not, after all, the power of expressing his thoughts 
in lucid and perspicuous English. — Coleridge. 



Matthew Gregory Lewis. 
1775-1818. 

Talked of poor Monk Lewis. His death was occasioned by 
Itaking emetics for sea-sickness, in spite of the advice of those 
.about him. He died, lying on the deck. When he was told 
all hope was over, he sent his man down below for pen, ink, 
:and paper ; asked him to lend him his hat; and upon that as 
i he lay, wrote a codicil to his will. Few men, once so talked 
3 of, have ever produced so little sensation by their death. He 
\ was ruining his negroes in Jamaica, they say, by indulgence, for 
■ which they suffered severely so soon as his back was turned ; 

but he has enjoined it to his heirs, as one of the conditions 
: of holding his estate, that the negroes were to have three 
{additional holidays in the year. — Thomas Moore's " Diary ^ 

A good-natured fopling, the pet and plaything of certain 
fashionable circles. — Lockhart? 

Lewis was fonder of great people than he ought to have 
been, either as a man of talent or a man of fashion. He had 
always dukes and duchesses in his mouth, and was pathetically 



I ^ Lockhart speaks of the brushwood splendour of * The Monk's ' fame.'^ 
'**The Monk" was certamly the most popular book of its day. Amongst 
its sincere and enthusiastic admirers were Byron and Shelley. — En. 



1 



4o6 Matthciu Gregory Lciuis, j 

fond of any one that had a tide. You would have sworn that 
he had been a parvenu of yesterday \ yet he had Hved all his; 
life in good society Mat had queerish eyes — they pro- 
jected Hke those of some insects, and were flattish on the orbit. 
His person was extremely small and boyish — he was indeed; 
the least man I ever saw, to be strictly well and neatly made. 
I remember a picture of him by Saunders being handed round 
at Dalkeith House. The artist had ingeniously flung a dark 
folding mantle around the form, under which was half-hid 
dagger, a lantern, or some such cut-throat appurtenance ; with; 
all this, the features were preserved and ennobled. It passed 
from hand to hand into that of Henry, Duke of Buccleugh, 
who, hearing the general voice affirm that it was very like, said 
aloud, " Like Mat Lewis I why that picture's like a man ! " He 
looked, and lo 1 Mat Lewis's head was at his elbow. This 
boyishness went through life with him. He was a child, and 
a spoiled child, but a child of high imagination ; and so he 
wasted himself on ghost-stories and German romances. He 
had the fmest ear for rhythm I ever met with — finer than 
Byron's. — Sir Walter Scott. 

Oh wonder-working Lewis ! monk or bard, 

AVho fain wouldst make Parnassus a churchyard ! 

Lo ! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow ; 

Thy Muse a sprite, Apollo's sexton thou ! 

"Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st thy stand 

By gibbering sj^ectres hailed, thy kindred band \ 

Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page 

To please the females of our modest age ; 

All hail ! ^LP., from whose infernal brain 

Thin-sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train ; 

At whose command "grim women" throng in crowds, 

And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds, 

AVith " small grey men," "wild yagers," and what not? 

To cro^^ll with honour thee and \\'alter Scott : 

Again all hail ! if tales like thine may please, ' 

St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease. 

Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell, 

And in thy skull discern a deeper hell. — Byro?i, 

In Monk Lewis's ^^Titings there is a deal of bad taste ; but 
still he was a man of genius. — Sam. Rogers. 

iMatthew Gregory Lewis, M.P. for Hindon, never dis 



Matthew G^'egory Lewis — Rev, T. R, Malthits, 407 

tinguished himself in Parliament \ but mainly in consequence 
of the clever use he made of his knowledge of the German 
language, then a rare accomplishment, attracted much notice 
in the literary world at a very early period of his life. His 
Tales of Terror," the drama of the Castle Spectre," the 
romance called "The Bravo of Venice" .... but above 
' all, the impious and libidinous novel of " The Monk," invested 
! the name of Lewis with an extraordinary degree of celebrity 
during the poor period which intervened between the obscura- 
' tion of Cowper and the full display of Scott's talents in the 
" Lay of the Last Minstrel " — a period which is sufficiently 
characterized by the fact that Hayley then passed for a poet. 
Next to that solemn coxcomb, Lewis was for several years the 
fashionable versifier of the time ; but his plagiarisms, perhaps 
more audacious than had ever before been resorted to by a 
man of real talents, were by degrees unveiled : and writers of 
greater original genius, as well as of purer taste and morals, 
successively emerging. Monk Lewis, dying young, had already 
outlived his reputation. — Notes to '^English Bards a?id Scotch 
Review ersT 

Rev. T. R. Malthus. 
1776-1834. 

I cannot read the nam.e of Malthus without adding my 
tribute of affection for the memory of one of the best men that 
ever lived. He loved philosophical truth more than any man 
I ever knew — was full of practical wisdom, and never indulged 
in contemptuous feelings against his inferiors in understanding. 
— Syd7iey Smith. 

Mr. Malthus tells us that the way to reduce our poor- 
rates is to persuade the lower orders to continence ; to dis- 
courage them as much as possible from marrying ; to preach 
wedding sermons to them, if they will marry, upon the im- 
morality of breeding — that being a luxury reserved only for 
those who can afford it, and if they will persist in so improper 
and immoral a practice, after so solemn and well-timed a 
warning, to leave them to the punishment of severe want, and 
rigidly deny all parish assistance. No public relief is to be 
given to the starving infant; it is worth nothing to society, 
for its place will be presently suppHed, and society therefore 



4o8 



Krr. T. R. Mai thus. 



has no further business than to hang the mother if she should 
shorten the sufferings of her babe, rather than see it die of 
want. The rich are to be called upon for no sacrifices; nothing 
more is required of them than that they should harden their 
hearts. 'I'hat we may not be suspected of exaggerating the 
detestable hard-heartedness of his .system, we present it in his 
own language. — SoutJuy. 

And Malthus does the thing 'gainst which he writes. — J>yron, 

For my part, I had rather be damned with Plato and Lord 
Bacon than go to heaven with Paley and Malthus.— 

Is it not lamentable— is it not even marvellous— that the 
monstrous j)ractical sophism of Malthus should now have 
gotten com|)lete possession of the leading men of the kingdom ? 
Such an essential lie in morals — such a practical lie as it is, 
too ! I solemnly declare that I do not believe that all heresies, 
and sects, and factions, which the ignorance, and the weakness, 
and the wickedness of men have ever given birth to, were 
altogether .so disgraceful to man as a Christian, a philosopher, 
a statesman, or citizen, as this abominable tenet It should be 
exj)osed by reasoning in the form of ridicule. Asgill or Swift 
would have done much ; but like the poj)ish doctrines, it is so 
vicious a tenet, so Mattering to the cruelly, the avarice, and 
sorilid selfishness of most men, that I hardly know what to 
think of the result.— GV^t-///^/-, Tabi^ Talkr 

Although Mr. Malthus him.self, in his earlier publications, 
has perhaps fallen sometimes into the exaggeration which is 
natural to a discoverer, the error, if he has committed one, 
does not affect the practical conclusions which place him, as a 
benefactor to mankind, on a level with Adam Smith. Whether 
in the absence of disturbing causes, it be a tendency of subsis- 
tence or of population to advance with greater rapidity, is a 
(juestion of slight importance, if it be acknowledged that 
human happiness or misery depend principally on their relative 
advance, and that there are causes, and causes within human 
control, by which that advance can be regulated. These are 
propositions which Mr. Malthus has established by facts and 



^ Shelley, however, had a high opinion of Malthus' talents : He is a 
clever man, and the world would be a great gainer if it would seriously 
take his lessons into consideration — if it were capable of attending to any- 
thing but mischief. But what on earth does he mean by some of his 
inferences ?*' — Ed. 



Rev, T, R. Malthiis — Thomas Campbell, 409 



reasonings which, opposed as they were to long-rooted pre- 
judice, and assailed by every species of sophistry and clamour, 
are now admitted by the majority of reasoners, and even by a 
large majority of those who take their opinions upon trust. — 
N, W, Senior, 

It is difficult to speak of his character in terms which would 
be thought extravagant by those who knew him intimately, and 

who, after all, are the only judges of it His temper was 

so mild and placid, his allowances for others so large and con- 
siderate, his desires so moderate, and his command over his 
own passions so complete, that the writer of this article, who 
has known him intimately for nearly fifty years, scarcely ever 
saw him ruffled, never angry, never above measure elated or 
depressed. — Bishop of Chichester^ 1S36. 

His mild and benevolent form is often before us. God 
forbid that we should forfeit the privilege of calHng up into our 
chambers of imagery that so benignant presence ! ^ Taking 
him all in all, he was the best man and truest philosopher we 
were ever acquainted with. It is some consolation on the loss 
of him that we did not wait for his death to canonize his 
virtues. — Edinburgh Review, 

Thomas Campbell. 
1777-1844. 

Campbell excels chiefly in sentiment and imagery. The 
story moves slow and is mechanically conducted, and rather 
resembles a Scotch canal carried over lengthened aqueducts, 
and with a number of locks in it, than one of those rivers that 
sweep in their majestic course, broad and full, over transatlantic 
plains, and lose themselves in rolling gulfs or thunder down 
lofty precipices. But in the centre, the inmost recesses of the 
poet's heart, the pearly dew of sensibility is distilled, and col- 
lects, like the diamond in the mine, and the structure of his 
fame rests on the crystal columns of a pohshed imagination. — 
Hazlitt. 

In the spring of 1832, I introduced Campbell to Lady 



^ In Miss Berry's Journal" I find :• — '''I dined at Mrs. Apreece's ; the 

party, Sydney Smith, Jeffrey, Malthus, &c I sat by Malthiis, and 

had a good deal of conversation with him — interesting when one gets over 
his painful manner of speaking from wanting a palate to his mouth, and 
having had a hare-lip — not, however, at all unpleasant in appearance." 



Tliovias CavipbcIL 



Blessington. The acquaintance commenced inauspiciously. 

There was a coohiess in it from the commencement The 

lady, who was disappointed with liyron at the first interview 
with him, was not very likely to be delighted with Campbell— 
a most shivery j)erson in the presence of strangers* — or to have 
her beau ideal of the poetic character and outward appearance 
of a bard realized by an elderly gentleman in a curly wig with 
a bhie coat and brass buttons, very like an ancient mariner out 
of uniform and his native element Campbell, on the other 
hand, had a sort of instinctive antipathy to any person who 
was supposed to be an admirer of Hyron, and he could not 
divest his mind of the idea that I^ady I'ilessington did not duly 
appreciate liis own merits. After dining at Seamore Place twice, 
1 beHeve, and freezing her ladyship w^ith the chiUiness of his 
humour, the acquaintance dropped, and left no pleasing recollec- 
tions on the minds of cither of the parties. — Madden' s ''Memoirs 
of Lady Blessin^on'' 

What has interested me of late has been a visit from Camp- 
bell, the sweet Hard of Hope. You must know his enchanting 

Ciertrude," his *' Exile of Erin," and other unequalled lyrics. 
I wish 1 could share with you the satisfaction I felt in seeing 
him cheerful, happy, and universally welcomed and caressed in 
his dear " Queen of the North," from which he had been so 
long banished by the necessity of seeking the bread that 
perisheth elsewhere. He is one that has surtered much from 
neither understanding the world nor being understood by it. 
He encountered every evil of poverty but that of being ashamed 
of his circumstances — in that respect he was nobly indifferent 
to opinion ; and his good, gentle, patient little wife was so 
frugal, so simple, and so sweet-tempered that she disarmed 
poverty of half its evils. This I fear was not the case with the 
bard of Hope, whose morbid sensibility wars with the kind and 
generous part of his character. — Mrs. Grant's Letter s.^^ 

The poet was now in his fifty-second year, and was still like 
what Byron described him ten years before, as already quoted. 
Every article of dress was neatly adjusted upon his compact, 



^ In Miss Beiiys '•Journal " is the follo\Wng : — *• At dinner Sir Jan., 
iSIackintosh, Sir H. and Lady Da\y, Mr. and Mrs. S. Locke, young 
Burney, and Campbell, the poet. The first and the last I saw for the first 
time. I am chamied with the first and. not at all with the latter; he 
appears to think too much of himself.'' — Ed. 



Thomas Campbell 



well-made figure, whichj though under the middle size, was not 
so much so as to impress the beholder with diminutiveness. 
His wig, fabricated to simulate the natural hair, most exactly 
fitted a head which had been bald from early youth. His 
features were good and stamped with a certain acuteness ; his 
lips thin, and perturbed upon any mental emotion ; his eyes 
grey, and finely expressive of the genius he possessed, often 
speaking the language of his mind, particularly in the social 
circle, when he felt perfectly at home ; his manner varied, on 
common occasions it was easy and agreeable, sometimes silent 
and pensive, but in general lively. He was at certain times 
fond of vivacious conversation amongst friends; still with much 
latent pride, and considerable self-respect, a trifle intervening, 
some trivial contretemps would throw him back upon himself 
in a moment, and then he would drop into reserve and silence 
in conversation before strangers, and many indeed of his 
friends, when he could rarely be drawn into giving an opinion 
upon anything. — Cyrus Redding. 

As there is honour among thieves, let there be some among 
poets, and give each his due — none can afford to give it more 
than Mr. Campbell himself, who, with a high reputation for origi- 
nality and a fame which cannot be shaken, is the only poet of 
the times (except Rogers) who can be reproached (and m him 
it is indeed a reproach) with having written too little, — By^^on. 

The conversation here turned upon Campbell's poem of 
^' Gertrude of Wyoming," as illustrative of the poetic materials 
furnished by American scenery. Scott cited several passages 
of it with great delight. " What a pity it is," said he, that 
Campbell does not write more, and oftener, and give full sweep 
to his genius ! He has wings that would bear him to the skies; 
and he does, now and then, spread them grandly, but folds 
them up again and resumes his perch, as if he was afraid to 
launch away. What a grand idea is that," said he, " about 
prophetic boding, or in common parlance, second sight— 

^ Coming events casts their shadows before,' 

The fact is," added he, " Campbell is in a manner a bugbear 
to himself. The brightness of his early success is a detriment 
to all his further efforts. He is afi^aid of the shadozu that his 
0W71 fame casts before himy — Washington Irvi?ig^ ''^ Abbot sf or d.''^ 
I wonder often how Tom Campbell, v/ith so much real 
genius, has not maintained a greater figure in the public eye 



412 



Tlionias CavipbcIL 



than he has done of late The author, not only of the 

Pleasures of Hope/' but of Hohenlinden," Lochiel," &c., 
should have been at the very top of the tree. Somehow he 
wants audacity, fears the i)ublic ; and what is worse, fears the 
shadow of his own reputation. He is a great corrector too, 

whi( li succeeds as ill in composition as in education 

'iom ought to have done a great deal more. His youthful 
promise was great. John Leyden introduced me to him. 
'i'hey afterwards cjuarrelled. When I repeated Hohenlinden" 
to Leyden, he said, " Dash it, man, tell the fellow I hate him ; 
but dash it, he has written the finest verses that have been 
published these fifty years." 1 did mine errand as faithfully as 
one of Homer's messengers, and had for answer, "Tell Leyden 
that I detest him, but that I know the value of his critical 
ai)probation." The feud was therefore in the way of being 
taken up. When Leyden comes back from India," said 
Tom Campbell, ''what cannibals he will have eaten, what 
tigers he will have torn to pieces — Sir Walter Scott, 

Campbell's Pleasures of Hojje " has been strangely over- 
rated. Its fine words and sounding lines please the generality 
of readers, who never sto}) to ask themselves the meaning of a 
passage. The lines 

" Where Andes, giant of the western star, 
A\'ith meteor standard to the wind unfurled. 
Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world," 
are sheer nonsense, — nothing more than a poetical indigestion. 
What has a giant to do with a star ? What is a meteor standard? 
but it is useless to inc^uire what such stuft* means. Once at my 
house, Professor Wilson, having spoken of those lines with 
great admiration, a very sensible and accomplished lady who 
happened to be present begged him to explain to her their 
meaning. He was extremely indignant, and taking down the 
" Pleasures of Hope " from a shelf, read the lines aloud, and 
declared that they Avere splendid. " Well, sir," said the lady, 
but what do they mean V Dashing the book on the floor, he 
exclaimed, in his broad Scotch accent, 'TU be daumed if I can 
tell V'^—Wordsii^orth. 



^ This passage, we believe, is a general favourite. The last line deseiTes 
applause ; a mountain, viewed from a distance, may be visible above as 
well as below the clouds, and the expression 

" Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world," 



413 



Henry Hallam. 
1777-1859. 

To Henry Hallam, the Historian of the Middle Ages, of the 
Constitution of his country, and of the literature of Europe, 
this monument is raised by many friends, who, regarding the 
soundness of his learning, the simple eloquence of his style, his 
manly and capacious intellect, the fearless honesty of his judg- 
ments, and the moral dignity of his life, desire to perpetuate 
his memory within these sacred walls, as of one who has best 
illustrated the English language, the English character, and the 
English name. — Li St. Patirs, Lo?idon, 

He has great industry and great acuteness. His knowledge 
is extensive, various, and profound. His mind is equally dis- 
tinguished by the amplitude of its grasp and by the deHcacy 
of its tact. His speculations have none of that vagueness 
which is the common fault of political philosophy. On the 
contrary, they are strikingly practical, and teach us not only 
the general rule, but the mode of applying it to some particular 
cases. In this respect they often remind us of the Discourses " 
of Machiavelli. — Macaiilay. 

In philosophical analysis Mr. Hallam is not successful. 
He fails in his criticism of poetry and romance. With English 
poetry, excepting tw^o or three of its greater names, we deem 
him to be very superficially acquainted. Nor will the student 
of our old Theology be satisfied with his treatment of that 
interesting department of English literature. — CJmrch of E^ig- 
land Quarterly Revieiu. 

Bless'd be the banquets spread at Holland House, 
Where Scotchmen feed and critics may carouse ! 
Long, long beneath that hospitable roof 
Shall Grub-street dine, while duns are kept aloof ; 



is just as bold. But the passage is disfigured, to our taste, by tKe intro- 
duction of too many points of similitude with human grandeur. The 
giant of the western star" shall be allowed to pass in all its vague 
magniloquence ; but the " meteor-standard to the winds unfurled" inevitably 
suggests ideas of military pomp, if not of military office, which accord but 
ill with the mountain's solitary and severe magnificence. Had the poet 
spoken of the Andes as a chain or assemblage of mountains, this image 
would have been more in keeping, — Quarterly Revieiv^ 1836. 



4 1 4 Henry Hall am — L ord Brougham. 



See honest Hallam lay aside his fork, 
Resume his pen, review his lordship's work \ 
And, grateful to the founder of the feast, 
Declare liis landlord can translate, at least. — Byron. 



Lord Brougham. 
1778-1868. 

An easy flow of sterling, forcible, plain sense is indispen- 
sable ; and this, combined with great powers of sarcasm, gi\ cs 
]]rougham his station. — Sir P. Buxton's Memoirs^ 

Lord Brougham has contrived to make himself jjerhaps the 
most popular i)erson in the country ; it has indeed been tlie 
sole herculean labour of his life to become so. He has mani- 
fested throughout his career a singleness of purpose in pursuing 
this object, backed by prodigious physical and great mental 
energies, which could scarcely fiiil of conducting him to success. 
See, then, the dizzy elevation he has attained — the Chancellor- 
ship of England, a i)osition of paramount sway in the Govern- 
ment ; the object of fervent flattery, philosophical, oratorical, 
literary; the idol. of the people. We doubt whether any 
single individual in ancient or modern times ever aimed at 
levying contributions from so many and such apparently 
incompatible sources. And in order to do so it cannot be 
fairly said that Lord Brougham has been everything by turns 
and nothing long," for he has throughout his varied and 
brilliant career subordinated everything — every occupation, 
every accomplishment, every failure, every triumph to the one 
object we have mentioned — popularity; and that consummate 
and permanent. — B/cJc/ru'ooifs Magazine, 1834. 

I ha^-e always admired the man ; and the world, I verily 
believe, will pardon in him almost any aberration but that 
from the straight line of honour and truth. The name of 
Henry Brougham will be eminent in the history of Eng- 
land, and the great champion of the Education of the People 
is worthy to bear that name given by the gratitude of his 
compatriots to the first new discovered star. — Professor 
Wilson. 

I recollect meeting Mr. Brougham well. I met him at Air. 
Sharp's with Mr. Horner. They were then aspirants for political 



Lord Brougham. 



adventures. Mr. Horner bore in his conversation and 
demeanour evidence of that straightforward and generous 
frankness which characterized him through Hfe. You saw, or 
rather you feU, that you could rely upon his integrity. His 
mind was better fitted to reconcile discrepancies than to dis- 
cover analogies. He had fine, nay, even high, talent, rather 
than genius. Mr. Brougham, on the contrary, had an apparent 
restlessness : a consciousness, not of superior powers, but 
superior activity ; a man whose heart was placed in what should 
have been his head \ you were never sure of him — you always 
doubted his sincerity. — Coleridge. 

He differs from Sir James Mackintosh in this, that he deals 
less in abstract principles, and more in individual details. He 
makes less use of general topics, and more of immediate facts. 
Sir James is better acquainted with the balance of arguments 
in old authors — Brougham with the balance of power in Europe. 
If the first is better versed in the progress of history, no man 
excels the latter in a knowledge of the course of exchange. He 
is apprised of the exact state of our exports and imports, and 
scarce a ship clears out its cargo at Liverpool or Hull but he 
has notice of the lading. Our colonial policy- — prison discipline 
— the state of the hulks — agricultural distress — commerce 
and manufactures — the bullion question — the Catholic question 
— the Bourbons or the Inquisition — domestic treason — foreign 
levy — nothing can come amiss to him. He is at home in the 
crooked mazes of rotten boroughs ; is not bafiled by Scotch 
law; and can follow the meaning of one of Mr. Canning's 
speeches. — Hazlitt. 

Look at the gigantic Brougham, sworn in at twelve o'clock, 
and before six has a bill on the table, abolishing the abuses of 
a court which has been the curse of the people of England for 
centuries. For twenty-five long years did Lord Eldon sit in that 
court, surrounded with misery and sorrow, which he never held 
up a finger to alleviate. The widow and the orphan cried to him 
as vainly as the town-crier cries w^hen he offers a small reward 
for a full purse ; the bankrupt of the court became the lunatic 
of the court, estates mouldered away, and mansions fell down. 
But in an instant the iron mace of Brougham shivered to 
atoms this house of fraud and of delay ; and this is the man who 
will help to govern you ; who bottoms his reputation in doing 
good .to you; who knows that to reform abuses is the 'safest 
basis of fame and the surest instrument of power ; who uses the 



4i6 Lord BroiigJiavt. 

highest gifts of reason and the most splendid efforts of genius 
to rectify those abuses, which all the talent and all the genius 
of the profession have hitherto been employed to justify and 
protect. Look to Brougham, and turn you to that side where 
he waves his long and lean finger ; and mark well that f:ice 
which nature has marked as forcibl}-, which dissolves pen- 
sions, turns jobbers into honest men, scares away the plunderer 
of the public, and is a terror to him who doeth evil to the people. 
— Sydficy SmitJi. 

The schemes carried out l)y Brougham were rarely or never 
his own. He adopted the plans and hints of others. Just as 
in his speeches and writings he started no original idea amid 1 
his wonderful involution of language, his praise of new friends, ; 
or asperity of invective in dispraise of old, just so it was with 
his schemes. But it must be admitted that his unscrupulous , 
boldness in execution corresponded with the intensity of his 
ambition, and that he thus played upon the public feeling with 
a tact worthy of a better motive. K\'en where the originality 
had not been disguised, and he admitted fractional participa- 
tion, he ever contrived to grasp the larger share of praise. — 
Cyrus Ruidin^:;. 

Blundering Brougham. — Byrou. 

His command of language, extent of infomiation on every 
subject, in every science, embracing the whole circle of know- 
ledge ; his felicity in extracting arguments and illustrations from . 
that vast store of varied information ; his never-failing memory, ' 
marvellous ability in grappling with all the difficulties of a 
question, of seeing at a glance all its bearings, of maintaining a ' 
state of perpetual mental activity, of encountering opposition, 
utterly fearless of all opponents, of bearing down on his enemies, 
of sending forth torrents of words of overwhelming eloquence, 
on any occasion, however sudden the emergency — these peculiar 
talents have seldom been equalled, have never been surpassed, 
in Parliament. — Dr. Mad dot. 

ISIany are the claims of Lord Brougham upon the respect 
and gratitude of his countrymen ; and many are the titles by 
which he will be known to posterity. As a philanthropist 
his name is imperishably associated with those of Clarkson and 
Wilberforce in their efforts for the suppression of the Slave 
trade, and he has given the chief impulse to the great cause of 
the Education of the people. As a statesman he has taken a 
leading part in counselling and carrying some of the most 



L ord Brougham. 417 

important political measures of the nineteenth century. As an 
advocate whose zeal for his client scorned consideration of 
personal advancement, he will be known, if for nothing else, 
yet for his immortal defence of Queen Caroline. As a lawyer, his 
name is inscribed in the list of Lord High Chancellors of Eng- 
land — and he bounded to that lofty dignity from the ranks of 
the Bar, without having previously filled one of the subordinate 
law offices of the Crown. As a legislator, the country owes to 
his perseverance some of the most important improvements in 
her civil laws, and we allude more especially to the radical 
changes that have been effected in the law of Evidence. He is 
not only a great speaker, but an able writer, as our own cen- 
tury of volumes will testify ; not only a politician, who has fought 
like a gladiator for fifty years in the arena of party strife, but a 
man of letters, and a mathematician of no mean attainments. 
We remember when it was the fashion for those who cannot 
conceive the possibility of excellence in more than one depart- 
ment of knowledge, to sneer at Lord Brougham as " no lawyer." 
But this is best answered by the fact, that in hardly a single 

I instance were his judgments in the Court of Chancery reversed 
on appeal by the House of Lords ; and we will venture to say, 

' that, although there had been lawyers like Buller, and Holroyd, 
and Bayley, and Littledale, more versed in the technicaUties 
of their craft and the mysteries of special pleading — an abomi- 
nation now well-nigh swept away — few have been more pro- 
foundly imbued with the principles of Common Law. — 
Edinburgh Revieiu^ 1B58. 

The style of Lord Brougham, though vigorous and sometimes 

! happy, was too often diffuse, loose, and cumbrous, and always 
wanting in the exquisite accuracy and simplicity of Lord Lynd- 
hurst. — Roebuck's " Whig Miiiistry of 1830." 

One other appointment must be noticed, that of Lord 
Brougham and Vaux to the Woolsack ! And yet this, the 
excellent unfitness of which was pre-eminently apparent, may 
possibly be that which of all others may be best justified in the 
result. The talents of that extraordinary person may be as 
efficient for good, as they have heretofore been for evil — 

He has a stirring soul ; 
Whatever it attempts or labours at 
Would wear out twenty bodies in another." 

Quarterly Review^ 1831. 

E E 



i 



4 1 8 L ord Brougham — [ Villiaui Hazlitt. 



The leer of his eye, the general expression of his features, 
the exulting tones of his voice, showed that to behold Ministers 
writhing around him was to him a i)ositive luxury, and one of 
the highest order, — " RccoJlcctions of tJic Lords and Commons.''' 

William Hazlitt. 
1 77S-1S30. 

He (Schlegel) is like Hazlilt in English, who talks pimples, 
a red and white comiption rising up (in little imitation of 
mountains upon maps), but containing nothing, and discharging 
nothing, except their own humours. — Byron. 

Time and sorrow, i)crsonal ambition thwarted and fmitlessly 
driven back on itself, hopes for the world defeated and un- 
realized, changed the enthusiasti(' youth into a petulant, 
unsocial man. — A. Smith. 

If a love of the better literature of the country should revive 
in England, Hazlitt will be more highly estimated than he has 
yet been, and more liberally judged. — C. Hedding, 

We are told that on the summit of one of those columns 
which form the magnificent ruins of Hadrian's Temple, in the 
plain of Athens, there used to dwell a hermit, who scarcely 
ever descended from his strangely-chosen abode, owing his 
scanty food and support to the mingled admiration and 
curiosity of the peasants who inhabited the plain below. 
Something like this was the position of WiUiam Hazhtt. Self- 
banished from the social world, no less by the violence of his 
own passions than by those petty regards of custom and 
society which could not or would not tolerate the trifling 
aberrations from external form and usage engendered by a 
mind like his ; at the same time those early hopes bom of the 
French Revolution, which first awakened his soul from its 
ante-natal slumber, blighted in the very fruition, and the stream 
that fed them flung back upon its source, to stagnate there 
and turn into a poisonous hatred of the supposed causes o 
their disappointment ; his spirit refused to look abroad or be 

comforted He became, as regarded himself, personally heed 

less of all things but the immediate gratification of his momen 
tary wants or wishes, careless of personal character, indiff"erent 
to literar)' fame, forgetful of the past, reckless of the future 
and yet so exquisitely alive to the claims and the virtues of all 



I William Hazlitt, 41Q 

i these, that the abandonment of his birthright in every one 
of them opened a separate canker in his heart, and made his 
, hfe a Hving emblem of that early death which it foretokened.— 
\ P. G. Patmore. 

Hazlitt came in at Northcote's one day (1812), and as he 
I walked away with me he praised " Macbeth." I asked him to 
' walk up. Thence began a friendship for that interesting man, 
that smgular mixture of friend and fiend, radical and critic' 
metaphysician, poet, and painter, on whose word no one could 
rely, on whose heart no one could calculate, and some of 
whose deductions he himself would try to explain in vain. 
; With no decision, no appHcation, no intensity of self-will, he 
had a hankering to be a painter, guided by a feeble love of 
! what he saw, but the moment he attempted to colour or paint 
this timid hand refused from want of practice. Having no 
i moral courage, he shrank from the struggle, sat down in 
I hopeless despair, and began to moralize on the impossibility of 
art being revived in England— not because the people had no 
I talent, not because they had no subject-matter, not because 
I there was no patronage, but because he, William Hazlitt, did 
! not take the trouble which Titian took, and because he was 
itoo lazy to try. — B, P. Hay don. 

He is your only good damner, and if ever I am damned, I 
should like him to damn me. — Keats. 

His mind resembles the " rich stronde " which Spenser has 
!so nobly described, and to which he has himself likened the age 
iof Elizabeth, where treasures of every description lie without 
iorder, in inexhaustible profusion. Noble masses of exquisite 
imarble are there, which might be fashioned to support a glorious 
itemple j and gems of peerless lustre, which would adorn the 
jhoHest shrine. He has no lack of the deepest feelings, the 
jprofoundest sentiments of humanity, or the loftiest aspirations 
'after ideal good. But there are no great leading principles of 
taste to give singleness to his aims, nor any central points in 
his mind around which his feelings may revolve and his 
imaginations cluster. There is no sufficient distinction 
between his intellectual and imaginative faculties. He con- 
founds the truths of imagination with those of fact the 

processes of argument with those of feeHng— the immunities 
of intellect with those of virtue. Hence the seeming incon- 
sistency of many of his doctrines. Hence the want of all 
continuity in his style. Hence his failure in producing one 

EE 2 



420 Williavi Ha:Utt — TJiovias Moore, 



single harmonious and lasting impression on the hearts of his 
hearers. — Edi)ibun:;h Rr. icio, 1820. 

He revels in the delight of old English comedy, exhibits the 
soul of wit in its town-born graces, and the spirit of gaiety in 
its mirth, detects for us a more delicate flavour in the wit of 
Congreve, and lights \\\) the age of Charles the Second with 
airy and harmless si)lendour. — 7\i/foun/. 

I confess that in the collection of essays entitled the Round 
'J'able," it is with a certain uneasiness that I regard his imita- 
tion of the tone and style of the essayists of Queen Anne's days. 
His genius, to my taste, does not walk easily in ruftles and a 
bag-wig ; the affectation has not that nameless and courtly 
])ohsh which distinguished Addison, or even the more reckless 
vivacity of Steele. The last thing that Hazlitt can really be 
called is the wit about town." — Lord Lytton. 

Thomas Moore. 

A gentleman of small stature, but full of genius, and a 
steady friend of all that is honourable and just. — Sydney 
Smith. 

Moore has a i)eculiarity of talent, or rather talents — poetry, 
music, voice, all his own ; and an expression in each which never 
was, nor will be, possessed by another. But he is capable of still 
higher flights in ]joetry. By-the-bye, what humour — what — 
everything in the Postbag !" There is nothing Moore may 
not do, if he will but seriously set about it. In society he is 
gentlemanly, gentle, and altogether more pleasing than any 
individual with whom I am accjuainted. — Byron. 

You have contrived, God knows how I amidst the jjleasures 
of the world, to preserve all your home fire-side affections true 
and genuine as you brought them out with you ; and this is a 
trait in your character that I think beyond all praise ; it is a 
perfection that never goes alone ; and I believe you will turn 
out a saint or an angel after all. — Miss Godfrey. 

A little, ver>^ little man — less, I think, than Le\\is, and 

something like him in person His countenance is plain, but 

the expression is very animated, especially in speaking or 
singing, so that it is far more interesting than the finest fea- 



Thomas Moore. 



421 



tures could have rendered it It would be a delightful 

addition to life if Thomas Moore had a cottage within two miles 
of me,—Sir IV. Scott. 

As a poet, Moore must ahvays hold a high place. Of 
English lyrical poets, he is surely the first. Beautiful speci- 
mens of lyrical poetry may indeed be found from the earliest 
times of our literature to the days of Burns, of Campbell, 
and of Tennyson, but no one poet can equal Moore in the 
united excellence and abundance of his productions. — Earl 
Russell. 

Nothing but a short-hand report could retain the dehcacy 
and elegance of Moore's language, and memory itself cannot 
embody again the kind of frost-work of imagery which was 
formed and melted on his lips. His voice is soft or firm 
as the subject requires, but perhaps the word gentlemanly 
describes it better than any other Moore's head is dis- 
tinctly before me whilst I wite, but I shall find it difficult to 
describe. His hair, which curled once all over it in long 

tendrils is diminished now to a few curls, sprinkled 

with grey, and scattered in a single ring above his ears. His 
forehead is wrinkled, with the exception of a most prominent 
development of the organ of gaiety, which singularly enough 
shines with the lustre and smooth polish of a pearl, and is 
surrounded by a semicircle of lines drawn close about it, 
like intrenchments against Time. His eyes still sparkle like a 
champagne-bubble, though the invader has drawn his pen- 
cillings about the corners ; and there is a kind of wintry red, 
of the tinge of an October leaf, that seems enamelled on his 
cheek, the eloquent record of the claret his wit has brightened. 
His mouth is the most characteristic feature of all. The lips 
are delicately cut, slight and changeable as an aspen; but 
there is a set-up look about the lower lip — a determination of 
the muscle to a particular expression, and you fancy that you 
can almost see wit astride upon it. It is Avritten legibly with 
the imprint of habitual success. It is arch, confident, and 
half diffident, as if he was disguising his pleasure at applause, 
while another bright gleam of fancy was breaking on him. 
The slightly tossed nose confirms the fun of the expression, 
and altogether it is a face that sparkles, beams, radiates. — 
N. P. Willis. 

I thought Thomas Moore, when I first knew him, as de- 
lightful a person as one could imagine I never received 



422 



Tliomas Moore, 



a visit from him but I felt as if I liad been talking with Prior 
or Sir Charles Scdley.— Zr/>// ////;//. 

Of all the song-writers that ever warbled, or chanted, or 
sung, the best, in our estimation, is verily none other than 
Thomas ^loox^i.— Professor Wilson, 

If Moore had been born and bred a peasant, as Burns was, 
and if Ireland had been such a land of knowledge, and virtue, 
and religion as Scotland is — and surely without offence we 
may say that it never was, and never will be/ though we love 
the Green Island well — who shall say that with his fme fancies, 
warm heart, and exquisite sensibilities, he might not have been 
as natural a lyrist as Burns ; while, take him as he is, who can 
deny that in richness, in variety, in grace, and in the i)Ower of 
art, he is superior to the Ploughman. — Ibid, 

Moore is a delightful, gay, voluptuous, refined, natural c rea- 
ture; infinitely more unatTected than Wordsworth : not blunt 
and uncultivated like Chantrey, or bilious and shivering like 
Cami)bell. No affectation, but a true, refined, delicate, frank 
poet, with sufficient air of the world to i)rovc his fashion, 
sufficient honesty of manner to show fashion has not corrupteil 
his native taste ; making allowance for prejudices instead of 
condemning them, by which he seemed to have none himself; 
never talking of his own works, from intense consciousness 
that everybody else did. — />. R. JIaydou. 

Hogg came to breakfast this morning and brought for his 
companion the Galashiels bard, David Thomson, as to a 
meeting of huz Tividalc poets. The honest grunter opines 
with delightful naivete, that Aluir's verses are far owre sweet — 
answered by Thomson that Moore's ear or notes, I forget 
which, were finely strimg. ** They are far owre finely strung," 
replied he of the Forest, "for mine are just right." — Lockharfs 
''Life of Seott:' 

The sweetest l>Tic i)oet of this or perhaps of any age. — 
Editdmrgh Rrcia.i\ 182 1. 



^ It will not be perhaps too much to say that the exact contrary to this 
in two respects is the tnith. The virtue of the Irish is proverbial ; their 
devotional fervour eminent. On the other hand, the immorality of the 
Scotch is not denied even by Scotchmen, whilst of their piety the best that 
can be said is, they obsen e the Sabbath. — Ed. 



Ebenezer Elliott 



1781-1849. 

Mr. Elliott's memory is very retentive^ and he does not 
easily forget what he has once learned. Translations have 
made him familiar with the classic poets of Greece and Rome. 
Among the tragedians ^schylus is his favourite, whom he 
admires as the most original and sublime of the Athenian 
dramatic writers. His reading is extensive, and it has not been 
confined to poetry. History and political economy seem to 
have been his favourite studies ] the latter has inspired some of 
his most admired productions. He writes prose as well as 
verse, and the style of some of his Letters on the Corn Laws 
has the condensed fire and energy of Junius, less pohshed in- 
deed, but equally pointed and severe. — Chambers, 

In conversation he is rapid, and short \ his sentences, when he 
is animated by the subject on which he is speaking, have all the 
force and brevity of Spartan oratory \ they are words of flame, 
and in his predictions of calamity and woe — as, in his opinion* 
a necessary consequence of adhering to the present system 
of politics — it may be truly said in his own language, " his 
gloom is fire." In argument every muscle of his face is eloquent j 
and when his cold blue eye is fired with indignation, it resembles 
a wintry sky flashing with lightning 3 his dark bushy eyebrows 
writhing almost like the thunder-cloud torn by the tempest.— 
Anon. 

Perhaps no man's spirit and presence are so entirely the 
spirit and presence of his poetry. Unlike many who could be 
named, who drilled from youth into the spirit and tone of the 
gay circles that they frequent, present that spirit and tone there, 
and reserve the spirit and tone of the poet for the closet — men 
of two worlds, in the world of the world, in the closet in the 
world of the mind — Ebenezer Elliott has conversed too much 
with Nature, and with men in their rough, unsophisticated 
nature, to have merged one jot of his earnestness into con- 
ventionalism of tone or manner. In society and out of it he is 
one and the same — the poet and the man — W, Howitt. 

The works of this Corn-Law Rhymer we might liken rather 
to some litde fraction of a rainbow, hues of joy and harmony 
painted out of troublous tears. No round full bow indeed ; 



424 



Ebcnczcr Elliott, 



gloriously spanning the heavens, shone on by the full sun, 
and, with seven-striped, gold-crimson border (as is in some sort 
the office of poetry) dividing Black from Brilliant ; not such ; 
alas, still far from it I Yet, in very truth, a little prismatic 
blush, glowing genuine among the wet clouds, which proceeds, 
if you will, from a sun, cloud-hidden, yet indicates that a sun 
does shine, and above those vapours, a whole azure vault and 
celestial firmament stretch serene. — Carlylc. 

Kben is true as steel to his creed and faith — you may bend 
but not break him — and the critic who throws cold water on 
him, only hears a hissing of red-hot iron, that loses none of its 
heat, though it grey-blues its colour. His poetry is polluted 
and perverted — some not unfriendly critics have said, by 
l)olilics. No. It is polluted by nothing — for in it there is no 
l)olhition. Perverted it may be, and is, but what mind of 
mortal man is free from i)erversion ? And who has not seen 
an apple tree with distorted branches all awry, nevertheless 
laden with blossoms, and better, bowed down with fruit. We 
are willing to take such men as Kbenezer Elliott as we find 
them. — Wilson. 

He curses his i)olitical ojjponents with his whole heart and 
soul. He pillories them, and pelts them with dead cats and 
rotten eggs. The earnestness of his mood has a certain terror 
in it for the meek and ciuiet people. His poems are of the 
angriest, but their anger is not altogether undivine. His scorn 
blisters and scalds, his sarcasm tlays ; but then outside nature 
is constantly touching him with a summer breeze, or a branch 
of pink and white apple-blossom, and his mood becomes 
tenderness itself He is far from being lachrymose ; and when 
he is pathetic he affects one as when a strong man sobs. His 
anger is not nearly so frightful as his tears. I cannot under- 
stand why Elliott is so little read. Other names not particularly 
remarkable I meet in the current reviews — his never. His book 
stands on my shelf, but on no other have I seen it. This I 
think strange, because apart from the intrinsic value of his 
verse, as verse, it has an historical value. Evil times and 
embittered feelings, now happily passed away, are preserved in 
his books, like Pompeii and Herculaneum in Vesuvian lava. 

He was a poet ofthepoor.butin a quite peculiar sense Elliott 

is the poet of the English artisans — men who read newspapers 
and books, who are members of mechanics' institutes, who 
attend debating societies, who discuss political measures and 



Ebenezer Elliott — Washington Irviiig. 425 

3olitical men, who are tormented by ideas It is easier to find 

Doetry beneath the blowing hawthorn than beneath the plumes 
)f the factory or furnace smoke. In such uninviting atmo- 
jpheres Ebenezer Elliott found his ; and I am amazed that the 
vorld does not hold it in greater regard, if for nothing else 
ihan its singularity. — Alexander S7nitJu 



Washington Irving. 
1783-1SS9. 

To a true poet-heart add the fun of Dick Steele — 

Throw in all of Addison inintcs the chill, 

With the whole of that partnership's stock and goodwill, 

Mix well, and while stirring hum o'er as a spell, 

The fine old English Gentleman, simmer it well, 

Sweeten just to your own private liking, then strain 

That only the finest and clearest remain ; 

Let it stand out of doors till a soul it receives 

From the warm lazy sun loitering down through green leaves, 

And you'll find a choice nature, not wholly deserving 

A name either English or Yankee — ^just Irving. — Lowell, 

His later works are beautiful, but they are English ; and the 
pictures they contain cannot stand beside those drawn of Eng- 
lish scenery, character, and manners, by our great native artists 
without an uncertain faintness seeming to steal over them, that 
impairs their efiect, by giving them the air, if not of copies, of 
imitations. Yet that not much," for Washington Irving, as 
he thinks and feels, so does he Avrite, more like us than we 
could have thought it possible an American should do, while 
his fine natural genius preserves in a great measure his 
(originality. — P7'ofesso7' Wilson^ 1S32. 

When you see Tom Campbell, tell him, with my best love, 
that I have to thank him for making me known to Mr. 
Washington Irving, who is one of the best and pleasantest 
acquaintances I have made this many a day. — Sir W. Scott, 
Lockharfs " Lifer 

The style of Mr. Washington Irving is always pleasing. — 
Macanlay, " Essay 

Throughout his polished pages no thought shocks by its 
extravagance, no word ofiends by vulgarity or afi"ectation. All 



426 



Washington Ir. ing —Leigh Hunt. 



is gay but guarded— heedless, but sensitive of the smallest 
hlQmish,— Edinburgh RtTica>, 1S29. \ 

Leigh Hunt. ( 

This cockney-bred setter of rabbits. — Moored \ 
He is an honest charlatan who has persuaded himself into a 

belief of his own impostures and talks Punch in pure simplicity 

^f heart He is a good man and a good father 

A great coxcomb and a very vulgar person in everything aboutj 

him. — Byron. 

Hunt is an extraordinary character and not exacdy of the 
l>rescnt age. He reminds me much of the Pym and Hampden 
times— much talent, great independence of spirit, and an! 
austere yet not repulsive aspect. — Ibid. \ 

One more gentle, honourable, innocent, and brave ; one ol 
more exalted toleration for all who do and think evil, and yet 
himself more free from evil ; one who knows better how tc 
receive and how to confer a benefit, though he must evei 
confer far more than he can receive ; one of simpler, and in the 



^ Cockney-bred setter of rabbits." The lines in which this sarcasm i 
found were provoked from Moore by an onslaught on the character of Lon 
]3yron, after the death of the noble poet, in a book entitled " Lord Byro^ 
and his Contemporaries." Hunt was subsequently ashamed of this book, 
and would have suppressed it. This confession was extorted from him 
by the reprinting of Tom Moore's bitter lines in the Times. In a letter to 
that poet Hunt expresses his regret that the verses should have been re- 
produced. He was at that time busy in soliciting a pension, being in great 
want and in ill-health, and by no means desired just then to be written 
against, even in a revived composition. That the attack on Byron was so un- 
fortunate as to admit of the worst constructions is proved by the opinions 
it provoked from the Quarterly, the Edinburgh, from Wilson, and others. 
Thornton Hunt thus excuses his father : To dismiss the subject once for 
all, it may be remarked that if disappointment and the fervour of a new 
literaiy work — which often draws the pen beyond its original intention- 
led Leigh Hunt into a book which was too severe, perhaps too one-sided in 
its views, he himself after corrected the one-sidedness, and recalled to 
mind the earlier and undoubtedly the more correct impression he had had 
of Lord Byron."' T^Ir. Hunt refers perhaps to a letter in which Leigh 
Hunt says, speaking of Byron, " It strikes me that he and I shall become 
frie7ids, literally and cordially speaking ; there is something in the texture 
of his mind and feelings that seems to resemble mine to a thread ; I think 
we are cut out of the same piece," (Sec. — Ed. 



Leigh Hunt. 



highest sense of the word, of purer Ufe and manners, I never 
knew. —Shelley. ^ 

His style, in spite of its mannerism, is well suited for light, 
garrulous, desultory ana^ half critical, half biographical. We 
do not always agree with his literary judgments ; but we find 
in him what is very rare in our time, the power of justly 
appreciating and heartily enjoying good things of very different 
kinds . — Macaulay. 

Hunt, whose every sentence is flavoured with the hawthorn 
and the primrose. — A. Smiih. 

I look upon the author of Rimini" as a man of taste and 
a poet. He is better than so ; he is one of the most cordial- 
minded men I ever knev/ — a matchless fire-side companion. 
I mean not to affront or wound your feelings when I say, that 
in his more genial moods he has often reminded me of you. 
There is the same air of mild dogmatism — the same con- 
descending to boyish sportiveness in both your conversations.— 
Lamb to Soiithey, 

I would rather partake of your bread and cheese, with a 
glass of Adam's ale, than of many another man's sirloin and 
port. — S her Ida? I K7iotules/' 

I have always venerated you as a poet; I believe your poetry 
to be sure of its eventual reward ; other people, not unlikely, 
may feel like me, that there has been no need of getting into 
feverish haste to cry out on what is ; yet you who wrote it can 
leave it and look at other poetry, and speak so of it : how well 
of you ! — Robert Browfiing, 

I thought him, with his black bushy hair, black eyes, pale 
face, and nose of taste," as fine a specimen of a London 
Editor as could be imagined ; assuming yet moderate, sarcastic 
yet genial, with a smattering of everything and mastery of 
nothing, affecting the dictator, the poet, the politician, the 
critic, and the sceptic, vv^hichever would at the moment give 



1 This Shelley writes in a dedicatory letter. We need not question its 
sincerity. He always speaks of Hunt in the warmest words. * Take 
this :— 

' ' One of those happy souls 
Which are the salt of the earth, and without whom 
This earth would smell like what it is — a tomb." 

Letter to Maria Gisborne. 

2 ^' I think Sheridan Knowles by far the best writer of plays since those 
■whom we call our old dramatists.''— 'Roge7's's Table Talk.'' 



428 



Leigh Hunt— Professor Wilson, 



him the air, to inferior minds, of being ^ very superior man. 
I hstened Avith something of curiosity to his repubhcan indepen- 
dence, though hating his efteminacy and cockney pecuharities. 
. . . . He rehshed and felt art without knowing anything of 

its technicahties In belles lettres, though not equal 

to Fuseli, he had a more delightful way of conveying what 
he knew. He had been educated at Christ's Hospital and was 
not deficient in classical knowledge, but yet not a scholar. — 
B. R, Ilaychm. 

Professor Wilson. 

If ever there was a man of genius, and of really great genius, 
it was the late Professor AVilson. From the moment when his 
magnificent physi(iue and the vehement, passionate, ennui- 
dispelling nature that it so fitly enshrined, first burst upon 
literary society at Oxford, at the Lakes, and at P'dinburgh, ▼ 
there was but one \ erdict respecting him. It was that which 
Scott and other competent judges expressed, when they de- 
clared, as they did repeatedly, that Wilson had powers that 
might make him in literature the very first man of his genera- 
tion. Moreover, what he actually did, in the course of his 
five and thirty years of literary life, remains to attest the amount 
and vigour of his faculties. In quantity it is large ; in 
kinds most various. In the general literature of Britain a 
place of real importance is accorded to Christopher North, 
while his own comi)atriots — with that power of enthusiastic, 
simultaneous, and, as it were, national regard for their eminent 
men, either while yet living, or after they are just dead, which 
distinguishes them from their neighbours the English — have 
added him to the list of those illustrious Scots, whom they so 
delight to count over in chronological series, and whom they 
remember with aftection. And yet not only in disinterested 
England, but even among admiring Scotchmen themselves, 
there have been critical comments and drawbacks of opinion 
with respect to Wilson's literary career, and the evidences of 

his genius that remain So far as I have seen, all the 

criticisms and drawbacks really resolve themselves into an 
assertion that Wilson, though a man of extraordinary natural 
powers, did not do justice to them by discipline — that he was 



Professor Wilson, 



429 



intellectually, as well as physically, one of those Goths of great 
personal prowess, much of whose prowess went to waste for 

: want of stringent self-regulation, and who, as respects the total 
efficiency of their lives, were often equalled or beaten by men 
of more moderate build, but that build Romsin.— David 

^ Mass on. 

j His mind, it must be remarked, though gifted with only a 
I few leading ideas, possesses the strange power of showing these 
once every month in a new shape, generally diluted into a 
lavish effusion of brilliant, though unpolished verbiage ; and 
in this way he continues to keep up a constant succession of 
dashing, frothy articles in the work referred to.^ I mentioned 
that Southey was reckoned the writer of the best or purest 
English in the present day ; on the same principle Wilson may 
be reckoned among the coarsest. His frolicsome, loose style 
is exceedingly captivating, and has produced a host of imitators 
among young writers, not one of whom has approached him in 
point of talent or brilliancy ; and the consequence has been, a 
perfect inundation of flippant, useless writing, in every depart- 
ment of periodical literature. — i?. Chambers. 

A man of great acquirements and powers. — Byron. 
A writer of the most ardent and enthusiastic genius, whose 
eloquence is "as the rush of mighty waters," and has left it for 
others almost as invidious to praise in terms of less rapture, 
as to censure what he has borne along in the stream of un- 
hesitating eulogy. — Hallam, 



1 Speaking of Professor Wilson's capital work, the ^'Noctes Ambrosianae,'' 
a writer in Blackwood says: Shall a false or affected modesty hinder 
us from saying in the same spirit what all the world knows, and feels, and 
confesses, that our limits will not allow us suitably to expatiate on the 
kindred merits of our o\^ti many Banquets — on the singular specimens of 
colloquial epideitic eloquence they exhibit — on the dramatic skill with 
which their tone is diversified, from the vague enthusiasm and mystic lore 
of Kempferhausen, to the more masculine simplicity and accurate distinctions 
of Buller ; the professional harangue of Mullion ; the grotesque imageiy, 
wild rampant humour, and exquisite diction of Tickler ; the sophistical 
subtleties and florid rhetoric .... of the English ' Opium Eater the rich 
irony, the interrogatory slyness, the bold morality, the transcendent sublimity 
of North ; and inspiring them all with breeze and sunshine from the old 
Forest, the Genius of the Shepherd ; a more creative spirit in the pastoral 
power of nature than ever visited the groves of Academe or held com- 
munion with Plato, the Prince of Philosophers though he were — say more 
than Prince — the Poet." — A Glance at the Nodes of Athen^us^^^ 1834. 



430 



Professor Wilson. 



Glorious Christopher North. — Earl Russell 

Wilson looked like a fine Sandwich-Islander, who had been 
educated in the Highlands. His light hair, deep sea-blue eye, 
tall, athletic figure, and hearty hand-grasp, his eagerness in 
debate, his violent passions, great genius, and irregular habits, 
rendered him a fomiidable partisan, a fi^irious enemy, 
and an ardent friend. His hatred of Keats, which could 
not be concealed, marked him as the author of all those 
violent assaults on my poor friend in Blackwood, — B. 
J lay don. 

On the appearance of Mr. Wilson's " Isle of Palms," I was 
so greatly taken with many of his fanciful and visionary scenes, 
descriptive of bliss and woe, that it had a tendency to divest 
me occasionally of all worldly feelings. I reviewed this poem, 
as well as many others, in a Scottish review then going in 
Edinburgh, and was exceedingly anxious to meet with the 
author ; but this I tried in vain for the space of six months. 
All I could learn of him was, that he was a man from the 
mountains of A\'ales, or the West of England, with hair like 
eagle's feathers, and nails like bird's claws, a red beard and an 
uncommon degree of wildness in his looks. Wilson was then 
utterly unknown in Edinburgh, except slighdy to Mr. Walter 
Scott, who never introduces any one person to another, nor 
judges it of any avail. However, having no other shift left, I 
sat down and wrote him a note, telling him that I wished much 
to see him, and if he wanted to see me he might come and 
dine with me at my lodgings, in the road of Gabriel, at four. 
He accepted the invitation and dined with Grieve and me ; 
and I found him so much a man according to my own heart, 
that for many years we were seldom twenty-four hours asunder 
when in town. — yames Hogg. 

To John Wilson, to the " Isle of Palms," the ^^City of the 
Plague," and of volumes of other beautiful poetry, it would be a 
dehghtful task to devote a volume. The biography of Pro- 
fessor Wilson, whenever given to the world, if written as it 
should be, would be one of the most curious and intensely in- 
teresdng books in the world. The poet and the periodical writer, 
Christopher North, at the Noctes and in his shooting-jacket, 
and John Wilson, the free, open-hearted, yet eccentric man, 
could, combined, furnish forth, with glimpses^ of his contem- 
poraries and social doings, a most fascinating v/ork. — W, 
Howiit 



Professor WilsonSir John Cam Hohhotise, 43 1 

The author of the elegy upon poor Grahame ^ is John 
i Wilson, a young man of very considerable poetical powers. 
I He is now engaged in a poem called the Isle of Palms," some- 
i thing in the style of Southey. He is an eccentric genius, and 
I has fixed himself upon the banks of Windermere, but occa- 
i sionally resides in Edinburgh, where he now is. Perhaps you 
I have seen him ; his father was a wealthy Paisley manufacturer— 
his mother a sister of Robert Sym. He seems an excellent, 
warm-hearted, enthusiastic young man ; something too much, 
-perhaps, of the latter quality places him among the list of 

■ originals. — Sir Walter Scott, 

Few creatures of the imagination have succeeded in im- 
pressing their image on the public with more distinctness of 
portraiture or a stronger sense of reality. Few indeed find 
any difficulty in calling up before the mind's eye, with nearly 
the same vividness as that of an ordinary acquaintance, the 
image of this venerable eidolon — who unites the fire of youth 
with the wisdom of age, retains an equal interest in poetry, 
philosophy, pugiHsm, and political economy — in short, in all 

■ the ongoings of the world around him in which either matter 
, or spirit have a part ; and who passes from a fit of the gout 
to a feat of gymnastics, and carries his crutch obviously less 
for the purposes of use than of intimidation.— ^^/;/^?/r^/^ 
Review^ 1843. 

\ Sir John Cam Hobhouse (Lord Broughton). 

1786-1869. 

Hobhouse is my best friend, the most lively and entertaining 
of companions, and a fine fellow to boot — Byron. 
Of Hobhouse I have a very slight opinion. — S/ielky, 
In his articles, which are numerous (he has been an indefati- 
gable reviewer, dividing his favours with the most scurrilous 
ultra-Tory and the most violent ultra-Radical of the periodicals 
' — les extrhjies se to2iche?it) he stands quite alone — shines in 
unbKishing effrontery of assertion and blackguardism of 



1 Lo ! the Sabbath bard, 
Sepulchral Grahame, pours his notes sublime 
In^mangled prose, nor even aspires Jo rhyme. — Byron, 



432 Sir JoJin Cam Hob house — Lord Byro7i, 



language. In order to serve his purpose he condescends to pick 
up gossip from servants. — Mcdn'iN. 

Hobhouse is known of old as a heavy hand ; he comes down^ 
with his ponderous sledge-hammer contradictions, as though hel 
were forging a thunderbolt, and with all his din and smithery,! 
fuss and fury, only dispkices a comma or corrects a date.l 
The date and the comma are aHke unimportant ; not so thel 
critic ; whatever he does must be great, and while he thinks the' 
circle around him are astonished at his haul hitting, they only 
wonder at his want of breath and temper. — Hazlitt. 

Here lies a wrangler, but no orator ; a demagogue, but no 
patriot ; a minister, but no statesman ; a pedant, but no scholar ; 
a \ ersifier, but no ])oet ; a lampooner, but no satirist. — Afioi.^ 
(] noted in " Life of SlicIIcyr 

Lord B)'ron. i 
178S-1824. ^ 

lie makes virtue serve as a foil to \ ice; dandyism is (for want 
of any other) a variety of genius. A classical intoxication is 
followed by the splashing of soda-water, by frothy effusions of 
ordinary bile. After the lightning and the hurricane, we are 
introduced to the interior of the cabin and the contents of wash- 
hand basins. The solemn hero of tragedy plays Scrub in the 
farce. This is very tolerable and not to be endured. The noble 
lord is almost the only writer who has prostituted his talents in 
this way. He hallows in order to desecrate ; takes a pleasure 
in defacing the images of beauty his hands have wTought, and 
raises our hopes and our beUef in goodness to heaven only to 
dash them to the earth again. — LLazlitt. 

Byron's countenance is a thing to dream of. A certain fair 
lady, whose name has been too often mentioned in connexion 
with his, told a friend of mine, that when she first saw Byron, 
it was in a crowded room, and she did not know who it was, 
but her eyes were instantly nailed, and she said to herself, that 
palefaee is viy fate. And poor soul, if a godlike face and god- 
like powers could have made any excuse for devilry, to be sure 
she had one. — Lockharfs Life of Scott T 

He is a person of the most consummate genius, and capable, 
if he would direct his energies to such an end, of becoming 
the redeemer of his degraded country. He is cheerful, frank, 



Lo7'd Byron, 



433 



and witty ; his more serious conversation is a sort of intoxica- 
tion. — Shelley, 

The teeth-grinding, glass-eyed, lone Caloyer.— C<^r/v/<^. 

Of the work that I have done it becomes me not to speak, 
save only as relates to the Satanic school, and its Coryphaeus, 
the author of " Don Juan." I have held up that school to 
pubHc detestation, as enemies to the religion, the institutions, 
and the domestic morals of the country. I have given them 
a designation to which their founder and leader answers ; I have 
sent a stone from my sling which has smitten their Goliath in 
the forehead. I have fastened his name upon the gibbet, for 
reproach and ignominy as long as it shall endure. Take it 
down who can ! — Soiithey, 

He was a mystery in a winding-sheet, crown'd with a halo. 

Gait} 

Thy heart, methinks. 

Was generous, noble. ^ — Rogers, 

Byron occasionally said what are called good things, but 
never studied for them. They came naturally and easily, and 
mixed with the comic or the serious, as it happened. A pro- 
fessed wit is of all earthly companions the most intolerable. 
He is like a schoolboy with his pocket stuffed with crackers. — 
Sir Walter Scott} 

Lord Byron's was a versatile and still a stubborn mind ; it 
wavered, but always returned to certain fixed principles. — 
Colonel Stanhope, 

Whatever rank be accorded to the genius of Lord Byron, it 



^ ^*Galt," says Christopher North, *'is a man of genius, and some of 
his happiest productions will live in the literature of his country. His 
humour is rich, rare, and racy, and peculiar withal, entitling him to the 
character of originality — a charm that never fadeth away ; he has great 
power in the humble, the homely pathetic ; and he is conversant not only 
with many modes and manners of life, but with much of its hidden and 
more mysterious spirit." His chief and best work is the "Annals of the 
Parish." His " Life of Byron" excited the indignation and hatred of the 
poet's friends and admirers. — Ed. 

2 In a touching and beautiful notice of Byron's death Scott said, "As 
various in composition as Shakspeare himself (this will be admitted by all 
who are acquainted with his "Don Juan"), he has embraced every topic of 
human life and sounded every string on the divine harp, from its slightest to 
its most powerful and heart-astounding tones. There is scarce a passion or 
a situation which has escaped his pen ; and he might be drawn, like 
Garrick, between the weeping and the laughing Muse. " — Ed. 

FF 



434 



Lord Byron, 



was certainly not greater, nor in fact so richly developed, when 
Phillips painted the poet in a dress which he could never have 
worn except at a fancy ball, than it was when he startled the 
eyes of the Count D'Orsay as the wearer of a faded nankeen 
jacket and green spectacles. As he appears in the portrait of 
Phillips he was clearly an impostor ; as he appeared to Count 
D'Orsay he was unquestionably honest and genuine. Yet 
there were many who having formed their notion of the man 
by a fantastic and impossible costume, lost a great deal of their 
admiration of the poet when they heard of the nankeen jacket 
and green spectacles. — Lord Lyttou. 

Much has been written about those unhajjpy domestic 
occurrences which decided the fate of his life. Yet nothing is, 
nothing ever was positively known to the public but this, that 
lie quarrelled with his lady and that she refused to live with 
him. There have been hints in abundance and shrugs and 
shakings of the head, and Well, well, we know," and we 
could an if we would," and " if we list to speak," and " there i 
be that might an they list." But we are not aware that there is | 
before the world, substantiated by credible or even by tangible \ 
evidence, a single fiict indicating that Lord Byron was more to 
blame than any other man who is on bad terms with his wife. — 
]\ [a caul ay. 

The bosom of Byron never could hold the urn in which the 
muse of tragedy embalms the dead. There have been four 
magic poets in the world. We await the fifth monarchy. — 
W. 6". Lander. 

Byron's poetry is great — great — it makes him truly great ; he 
has not so much greatness in himself — Thouias Campbell. 

He is extremely thin, indeed so much so that his figure has 
almost a boyish air ; his face is peculiarly pale, but not the 
paleness of ill-health, as its character is that of fairness, the 
fairness of a dark-haired person — and his hair (which is getting 
rapidly grey) is of a very dark brown, and curls naturally. — 
Lady Blcssington, 1823. 

The strength of passion, the command of nervous expression, 
the power of searching the heart, the philosophy of life which 
his poems display, are wonderful. In the last of these attributes 
only Wordsworth has equalled or surpassed him. — Eai'l Russell. 

His voice was such a voice as the devil tempted Eve with ; 
you feared its fascination the moment you heard it. — Mrs. 
Opie, 



Lord Byron, 



435 



There is a man, usurping lordly sway, 
Aiming alone to hold a world at bay ; 
Who, mean as daring, arrogant as vain, 
Like chaff, regards opinion with disdain. 
As if the privilege with him were found 
The laws to spurn by which mankind are bound ; 
As if the arm which drags a despot down 
Must palsied fall before a Byron's frown \—yoseph Cottle, 
With regard to Lord Byron's features, Mr. Mathews observed 
that he was the only man he ever contemplated to whom he 
felt disposed to apply the w^ord beantifiiL — " Life of Charles 
MathewsP 

I am convinced Byron's Italian excesses were not from love 
of vice, but experiments for a new sensation, on which to 
speculate. After debauchery he hurried away in his gondola 
and spent the night on the waters. On board a Greek ship, 
when touching a yataghan, he was overheard to say, " I should 
like to know the feelings of a murderer." This contains the 
essence of his moral character, and the assertion that he relished 
nothing in poetry not founded on fact, that of his poetical.— 
LLaydon. 

It would not be in the power, indeed, of the most poetical 
friend to allege anything more convincingly favourable of his 
character than is contained in the few simple facts that, through 
life, with all his faults, he never lost a friend ; that those about 
him in his youth, whether as companions, teachers, or servants, 
remained attached to him to the last ; that the woman to whom 
he gave the love of his maturer years idolizes his name • and 
that, with a single unhappy exception, scarce an instance is to 
be found of any one once brought, however briefly, into relations 
of amity with him, that did not feel towards him a kind of 
regard in life and retain a fondness for his memory. — Moore. 

His lordship's mode of address was peculiarly fascinating 
and insinuating — au premier abord—\t was next to impossible 
for a stranger to refrain from liking him. The contour of his 
countenance was noble and striking : the forehead particularly 
so, was nearly white as alabaster. His delicately formed features 
were cast rather in an effeminate mould, but their soft expres- 
sion was in some degree reheved by the moustachios of a light 
chestnut, and small tuft, ct la houssard, which he at that time 
sported. His eyes were rather prominent and full, of a dark 
blue, having that melting character which I have frequently 

F F 2 



436 Lord Byron — Theodore Edzuard Hook, 



observed in females, said to be a proof of extreme sensibility. 
The texture of his skin was so fine and transparent that the 
blue veins, rising like small threads around his temples, were 
clearly discernible. All who ever saw B}Ton have borne testi- 
mony to the irresistible sweetness of his smile, which was 
generally, however, succeeded by a sudden pouting of the lips, 
such as is practised sometimes by a pretty coquette, or a spoilt 
child. His hair was partially grizzled, but curled naturally. In 
conversation, owing to a habit he had contracted of clenching 
his teetli close together, it was sometimes difficult to com- 
prehend liim distinctly ; towards the conclusion of a sentence, 
the syllables rolled in his mouth, and became a sort of indistinct 
murmur. — J^. II, Brozune^ B/ackzcood^ 1S34. 

Mrs. Shelley expressed much admiration of the personal 
manner and conversation of Lord Byron, but at the same time 
admitted tliat tlie account in tlie Loudon Magazine for September 
was faithful. She censured his conduct towards Leigh Hunt 
as paltry and unfeeling ; spoke very slightly of his studies or 
reading ; thought him very superficial in his opinions, owed 
everything to liis memory, which was almost preternatural ; 
said that he felt a supreme contempt for all his contemporaries 
with the exception of A\'ordsworth and Cokridge, and he 
derided and ridiculed even them ; and was altogether proud, 
selfish, and even puerile. — Charles Lamb's KeeoUeeiions'^ 

Theodore Edward Hook/ 
1788-1S41. 

1 have before in my time met with men of admirable promp- 
titude of intellectual power and play of wit, which, as Stilling- 
fleet says, — 

The rays of wit gild wheresoever they strike ; " 
but I never could have conceived such readiness of mind and 



1 The life of Hook represents the career of a man whose efforts to chase 
pleasure could not remove him from the pursuit of pain ; and who, though 
we are told he wrote only for money, seems to have adopted literature 
rather for its distractions than its rewards. He was bom in London, 
September the 22nd, 1788; and when old enough was put to Harrow, 
where he had the honour of being the schoolfellow and companion of 
Byron, from whose friendship, however, he received no further benefit than 



Theodore Edward Hook, 



resources of genius, to be poured out on the mere subject and 
impulse of the moment. — Coleridge. 

Those who have attentively regarded the exhibition of a 
second-rate wit, cannot fail to have watched the solicitude 
with which he watches for an opening, the laboured ingenuity 
with which he leads the conversation round to a desired point, 



a satirical mention in the English Bards and Scotch Reviewers." Here, 
by throwing a stone at an old lady who was dressing herself before a 
window, Hook may be said to have commenced the first of those ''practical 
jokes" for whose perpetration he owes among us his chief renown — for the 
success of John Bull has been eclipsed by later and far more brilliant 
triumphs in journalism ; whilst his novels are with great difficulty dis- 
covered by the side of James's and Mrs. Trollope's in the top shelves of 
country libraries ; and, when discovered, with greater difficulty read. On 
the death of his mother, his charge devolved upon his father, by profession 
a musician, a man lax in his principles, and devoted to pleasure. All that 
the old man did for Theodore was to develope his poetical talent, of which 
he exhibited indications at an early age, by praising his poems and setting 
them to music. At sixteen Hook was the author of a play, rendered 
successful by the impersonation of an Irish character by the excellent 
comedian, Jack Johnstone. Now commenced his dramatic career. He 
wrote farces in which Mathews appeared, and comedies in which Liston 
took the leading parts. He wrote melodramas, burlettas, operas, for 
which his father found the music. He had soon achieved a reputation as a 
dramatist : and this reputation he improved by his brilliancy as a converser 
and his phenomenal powers as an improvisatore. His talents excited the 
notice of persons of influence and consequence, who invited him to their 
houses and offered him their friendship. Sheridan roared at his extempore 
recitations. Colman the younger laughed with envying approbation at his 
puns. After having proposed to two girls, by one of whom he was rejected, 
whilst the mother of the other refused her sanction, he procured, in 1812, 
the appointment of Treasurer to the Mauritius, with an income averaging 
2000/. a year. But he had not been long abroad when certain discoveries 
tended to corroborate, in the opinion of those who were watching Hook, 
the assertion of Johnson that a punster is as bad as a pickpocket. A 
deficiency in the public chest to the amount of some thousands of povmds 
was detected : Hook was suspected of the appropriation of this money, 
arrested, and thrown into prison. His trial, both in the Mauritius and in 

j England, extended over a great length of time ; and at last, when worn 
out in mind and body, he was acquitted, but in such unsatisfactory language 

\ as to exhibit a strong presumption of his guilt in the minds of his judges. 
He was now a pauper ; and having lived for nine months in a sponging- 
house, and for some considerable time "within the rules of the Bench," he 
settled himself at Somers Town, where he contracted an illicit connexion 
with a poor woman, who in a very short time imposed upon him the burden 
of five children. At this period he supported himself wholly by his pen. 
In 1820 was started the JoJm Bull, a weekly Tory publication, of which 
the success was immediate. In a very short time the first five numbers 
^vent through several editions, the first and second numbers being kept in 



L 



438 



Theodore Edward 



and the care with which he husbands his good things, biding 
liis time, and deaUng them out frugally, so that none be w^asted. 
In Hook the reverse of all this was conspicuous ; there was 
no question detached to lead you into the ambuscade of a 
ready-made joke." Nor was his personal appearance less 
prepossessing than were his manners engaging ; he is described 
as being, at the age of twenty, ''a slim youth of fine figure, his 
head covered with clustering curls," and though years as they 
rolled over his head, rubbing," as he said, " nearly all the 
hair off it," added to a sedentary life, and a too free indulgence 
in the pleasures of the table, had robbed him somewhat pre- 
maturely of all pretensions to " the mould of form," the 
eloquent eye, the rich and mellow voice, joyous smile, and 
expressive play of feature, remained to the last. It is not to 
be wondered at, therefore, that the accolade was graciously 
bestowed, and the agreeable candidate received, after very slight 
probation, into the order of fashion. — J^. II. Barham. 
Really a man of talent. — Byron. 

.... To this dinner Mr. Hook was invited. In the course 
of the day many persons sang, and Mr. Hook being in turn 
solicited, displayed, to the delight and surprise of all present, 
his wondrous talents in extemporaneous singing. The company 
was numerous, and generally strangers to Mr. Hook, but, 
widiout a moment's premeditation, he composed a verse upon 
every person in the room, full of the most pointed wit, and 
^^^th the truest rhymes, unhesitatingly gathering into his subject, 
as he rapidly proceeded, in addition to what had passed 



stereotype ; whilst the sale of the paper in six weeks had reached the large 
circulation of ten thousand copies. With little care and with but little 
economy Hook might have died an affluent man. But he was fond of 
wine ; he was fond of clubs ; he was fond of Crockford's, and of other 
gambling salons. He contracted debts which pressed heavily upon him, 
and was reduced at last to dispose of his share in the John Bull to satisfy 
his creditors. He remained, however, the editor of the paper on a salaiy 
not unequal to the wants or even the luxuries of a moderate man. But to 
Hook experience brought no wisdom. He still lived beyond his means ; 
he multiplied his bad habits ; he reversed the conventional hours, and 
turned night into day. From being a stout man he became so thin that 
he swathed himself in wrappers to give his form the resemblance of that 
bulk which had sometimes provoked the laughter of his friends. At last, 
reduced to a skeleton, with powers rendered languid by disease, with wit 
impaired by an unconquerable depression of spirits, he died on the 29th of 
July, 1 84 1. — Ed. 



I ot 



Theodore Edward Hook, 



439 



during dinner, every trivial incident of the moment. Every 
action was turned to account ; every circumstance, the look, 
the gesture, or any other accidental effects, served as occasion 
for more wit Mr. Sheridan was astonished at his extra- 
ordinary faculty, and declared that he could not have imagined 
such power possible had he not witnessed it. No description, 
he said, could have convinced him of so peculiar an instance 
of genius, and he protested that he should not have believed 
it to be an unstudied effort had he not seen proof that no 
anticipation could have been formed of what might arise to 
furnish matter and opportunities for the exercise of this rare 
Xdltnt.—'' Life of Charles Mathetusr ' 



^ In most eras of English civilization there will be found to have existed 
an order of free, liberal, and buoyant spirits, who made it their especial 
diversion to disorder the affairs or excite the terrors of their fellow- 
creatures. If you go so far back as the days of the second Charles you 
will hear of a community of wits, of which Sedley, Buckingham, and 
Rochester may be instanced as good types, Avho amused the tedium of 
their lives by running naked about the streets, by erecting platforms and 
haranguing the populace in the garb of Punchinello, by sending anonymous 
libels upon wives to procure their desertion by their husbands. In later 
times you have the Mohocks, an innocent and harmless fraternity of 
drunkards, who scoured the town after nightfall, cudgelling old men, 
stripping girls, strapping stray children to posts, thrusting old women into 
casks, and rolling them down the nearest hill at hand. Another era pro- 
duced the bellicose beau, a fellow in tarnished lace and paste jewellery, who 
drew his hanger upon timid or infirm people, who abducted girls and 
abandoned them in distant places, who forced quarrels upon peaceable 
folks by affirming monstrous lies, and then furiously cocking his hat and 
crying, " Damme, d'ye doubt my honour?" Later on we come to a more 
harmless species of wag, who, unlike his progenitors, preferred wringing 
off knockers to wringing off noses, and who found more fun in giving an 
alarm of fire and witnessing the street fill with terrified people in their 
nightgowns, than in impaling boys or leaving old men for dead in the 
gutters. He and his fellows may be said to have been the fathers of that 
race of practical jokers which flourished about the first quarter of the 
present century. The crude hints of the sires were dexterously refined 
upon by the sons. The work of mischief was perfected by the illumination 
of wit and invention. Knockers indeed continued to be torn from doors, 
and bell- wires to be pulled or broken. But these arts, which a young 
generation of practical jokers had regarded with admiration as high and 
imperishable achievements, a more experienced generation taught itself to 
despise as practices beneath the notice or dignity of real genius. 

To Theodore Hook the fine art of practical joking is more indebted for 
its development than to any of its numerous professors. Sheridan, indeed, 
suggested many improvements ; Charles Mathews enlarged its powers ; but 
Hook gave to it its height, its strength, its support. When he died it 



440 



Theodore Eelivard Hook, 



Last night, after dinner, I rested from my work and read the 
third series of " Sayings and Doings," which shows great 
knowledge of Ufe in a certain sphere, and very considerable 
powers of wit, which somewhat damage the effect of the tragic 
part. But Tlieodore Hook is an able writer, and so much of 
his work is well said tliat it will carry through what is indif- 
ferent. I liopc the same good fortune for other folks. — Sir W. 
Sioff, 

Words cannot do justice to Theodore Hook's talent for 



fell ; anJ after languishing some lime in the hands of a few indifTeient 
(juacks, perished, as a man i-)eri>lies who lias had his legs cut olT. 

Douglas Jcrruld, in that witty series of sketches, "Men of Character," 
probably had Hook in his mind when he wrote "John Applejohn." From 
the twelfth chaj)ter in that laughable story I transcribe a fragment lo 
illustrate the character of the joker of the days, if not of the school, of 
Hook :— 

" * \Vhat's the matter witli your arm?' incpiired Cramlington, with great 
concern. 

" * Such rare fun la>t night— never liad such glorious fun ! Why weren't 
you with us? Ha ! ha ! such fun !' an<l his lordship thing himself back in 
his chair, and shouteil with laughter. 

" Cramlington, staring with astonishment at the opened and injured jaws 
of nobility, exclaimed, ' My dear Slap, what's the matter with your 
leeth ?' 

Had three knock'd out last night— here they are though,' and his 
lordship produced three teeth, two single and one double, from his waist- 
coat-pocket : ' brought 'em off safe out of the gutter ; and more than 
that, left the field with the pump-handle— such fun !' 

" * Pump-handle 1' exclaimed Cramlington. * What ! another?' 

t< < Yes — swore I'd have it. Carried off St. George's last night ; that 
makes ten pump-handles at my chambers. Glorious fun ! Must have a 
dozen though,' said the peer. * However, you must come with us to- 

^^^^I^Vy^3^ know, my dear Lord Slap, that I am yours entirely, but to-night,' 
and Cramlington sought to excuse himself. 

" * Must come ! such sport in hand I — the crowning joke, d — me ! the 
crowning joke 1 ha 1 ha ! I've hired a stable ready to receive him,' said 
his lordship. 

" 'Him? whom?' asked Cramlington. 

" 'Billy Pitt !....' , . . -, ^ 

" ' What Billy Pitt? Any rascally editor of that name? inquired Cram- 

hngtom^^^^^^ _^ all editors ! I mean Billy Pitt, the minister, out of 

Hanover Square,' answered his lordship * Tired of street-door 

knockers and pump-handles ; they're small game, d— n me ! and make no 
noise now. But to cany off Billy Pitt— that will make something of a 
stir, I think I' "—Ed. 



Theodore Edward Hook. 



441 



improvisation \ it was perfectly wonderful. He was one day 
sitting at the pianoforte, singing an extempore song as fluently 
as if he had had the words and music before him, when Moore 
happened to look into the room, and Hook instantly intro- 
duced a long parenthesis : 

And here's Mr. Moore, 
Peeping in at the door," &c. 

The last time I saw Hook was in the lobby of Lord Canter- 
bury's house, after a large evening party there. He was 
walking up and do^vn, singing with great gravity, to the 
astonishment of the footmen, Shepherds, I have lost my hat 
— Rogers. 

Like many fellows of most excellent fancy," ^^wont to 
set the table in a roar," Hook — the humorist, all mirth and 
jocularity abroad — at home w^as subject to violent revulsion of 
feelings, to gusts of sadness, and fits of dejection of spirits, 
which temporary excitement, produced by stimulants, did not 

much tend to remedy or remove He ended his 

miserable career worried to death by creditors, attorneys, and 
bailiffs. — " Memoirs of Lady BlessmgtonP 

I am glad Theodore Hook finds literature so profitable. His 
songs (for I will think them his) in John Bull used to divert me not 
a little. Perhaps it is too high a compliment, but when I hear 
of his being in confinement, I think of Prince Henry saying of 
Sir Walter Raleigh that none but his father would keep such a 
bird in a cage. — Mrs. Granfs Letters.'^ 

His name will be preserved. His political songs and j'enx 
d' esprit, when the hour comes for collecting them, will form a 
volume of sterling and lasting attraction, and after many clever 
romances of this age shall have sufficiently occupied public 
attention, and sunk, like hundreds of former generations, into 
utter oblivion, there are tales in this collection which will be 
read with, we venture to think, even a greater interest than 
they commanded in their noYtlty.— Quarterly Review, 1843,^ 



1 In a paper on ''Practical Jokes," contributed to the "New Monthly 
Magazine" for 1837, of which he was then editor, he gives us some insight 
into the sort of joking which he practised with most rehsh. I epitomize 
the best of them. Number one, was tying a piece of meat very securely to 
the bell-handles ''which dangle outside the gates of certain suburban 



442 



Countess of Blessington. 

17S9-1S49. 

In a long library, lined alternately with splendidly-bound 
books and mirrors, and with a deep window of the breadth of 
the room, opening upon Hyde Park, I found Lady Blessington. 
The picture to my eye as the door oi)ened was a very lovely 
one, a woman of remarkable beauty half buried in a fauteuil of 
yellow satin, reading by a magnificent lamp suspended from 
the centre of the arched ceiling ; sofas, couches, ottomans, and 

busts arranged in rather a crowded sumptuousness 

She looked something on the sunny side of thirty. Her person 
is full, but preserves all the fineness of an admirable shape ; 



villas." Every dog that passetl would of course grab at the meat and set 
the bell furiously ringing. Out would come the servants, candle in hand, 
look round, see nothing, swear, and retire. The next dog that i)asses 
repeats the process. "And thus ten limes in the night the family within 
continue to be alarmctl without measure at what aj)pears a systematic attack 
upon Hawthorn Cottage or Kglantine Loilge, the master of which is a 
ilecided hypochondriac, and the mistress expecting to Ijc confined every 
half hour.' Number two, was breaking signljoards into pieces, and join- 
ing tlie odd halves into incongnious wholes. As a specimen : *• Robert 
Dick enson. Cilass Coaches and Flies to Let by the Day and Hour, as well 
as Ladies' Fronts and Toupees." Number three, was sprinkling salt and 
chopped horsehair between the sheets of his intimate friend, which drove 
him out of bed half mad in ten minutes. Number four, boring a hole 
through a wainscot, tying a string to the bedclothes, and carr>'ing the string 
through the hole into the next room. When the victim snores, twitch the 
string, and off fly the bedclothes. The sufferer leaps out to catch llie 
flying clothes, wonders how they fell off, rolls himself up, sleeps, and is 
awakened by their second disappearance. This joke can be performed 
well only in the depth of winter. Number five, sewing the seams in a 
frientl's clothes, so that he finds them too small for him w hen he puts them 
on. This, we are infomied, has a prodigious effect on a man ^ ho lives in 
fear of dropsy. Number six, knocking up an accoucheur at one end of 
the town to visit a spinster at the other ; tying fruit-barrows to hackney- 
coaches, and then calling " coach !" despatching an attorney in the west to 
make the will of a client in the east ; ^^•hen the attorney arrives he finds 
the client in excellent health, and just retired to bed after a good supper ; 
ringing the bell of a tradesman to ask if the Bishop of Norwich is at 
home ; and arousing the family of a calculating carpenter to know \vhether 
a few" words can be had with the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Hook 
closes his article with a very tragical stor}', in which the dangers of practical 
joking are very properly exhibited. — Ed, 



Countess of Blessington. 



443 



her foot is not pressed in a satin slipper, for which a Cinderella 
might long be sought in vain ; and her complexion (an 
unusually fair skin with very dark hair and eyebrows) is of even 
a girhsh dehcacy and freshness. Her dress of blue satin .... 
was cut low and folded across her bosom in a way to show to 
advantage the round and sculpture-like curve and whiteness of 
a pair of exquisite shoulders, while her hair, dressed close to her 
head, and parted simply on the forehead with a rich feronier 
of turquoise, enveloped in clear outline a head with which it 
would be difficult to find a fault. Her features are regular, 
and her mouth, the most expressive of them, has a ripe fulness 
and freedom of play peculiar to the Irish physiognomy, and 
expressive of the most unsuspicious good humour. Add to all 
this, a voice merry and sad by turns, but always musical, and 
manners of the most unpretending elegance, yet even more 
remarkable for their winning kindness, and you have the pro- 
minent traits of one of the most lovely and fascinating women 
I have ever seen. — N. F, Willis. 

Went to Lady Blessington's in the evening \ everybody goes 
to Lady Blessington's. She has the first news of everything, 
and everybody seems delighted to tell her. No woman will 
be more missed. She is the centre of more talent and gaiety 
than any other woman of fashion in London. — Haydoii. 1835. 

Underneath is buried all that could be buried of a woman 
once most beautiful. She cultivated her genius with the 
greatest zeal, and fostered it in others ^vith equal assiduity. 
The benefits she conferred she could conceal — her talents not. 
Elegant in her hospitality to strangers, charitable to all, she 
retired to Paris in April, and there she breathed her last.^ — ■ 
W. S. Lando?\ 

Among all the brilliant women we have known she was one 
of the most earnest — earnest in defence of the absent, in pro- 
tection of the unpopular, in advocacy of the unknown ; and 
many are those Avho can tell how generously and actively Lady 
Blessington availed herself of her widely extended connexions 
throughout the world to further their success or promote their 
pleasures. — AtJie7icBtim^ 1849. 



Never," says Byron, "believe a woman or an epitaph." The concurrent 
testimony, however, of many eminent men not only supports the applause 
of Mr. Landor, but proves that had the applause been warmer it would 
have been more just. — Ed, 



444 



Cowitcss of Blcssington. 



I think it ought to be remembered to her honour, that with 
all her foreign associations and habits, she never wrote a line 
that might not be placed on the book-shelves of any English 
lady._J/r^. Hall. 

Bencatli Blessington's eyes 

The reclaim'd paradise 
Should be free as the former from evil ; 

But if the new Eve 

For an apple should grieve, 
What mortal would not play the devil ? — Byron. 

She expressed her opinions in short, smart, telling sentences ; 
brilliant things were thrown off with the utmost ease ; one bo?i 
vwt followed another without pause or effort, for a minute or 
two, and then, while their wit or humour were producing the 
desired effect, she would take care, by an apt word or gesture 
provocative of mirth and communicativeness, to draw out the 
persons who were best fitted to shine in company. — Dr. 
Madden, 

'J1ie novels of Lady Blessington are strongly characterized 
by the social phenomena of the times — they are peculiarly the 
romans de societe — the characters that move and breathe 
throughout them are the actual persons of the great world ; 
and the reflections with which they abound belong to the 
philosophy of one who has well examined the existing man- 
ners. — Edinburgh Rci'lriCy 1838. 

WRITl'EN AT GORE HOUSE. 

jMild Wilberforce, by all beloved, j 

Once owned this hallowed spot, \ 
Whose zealous eloquence improved .3 

The fetter'd Negro's lot. 
Yet here still Slaver>' attacks. 

Whom Blessington invites : 
The chain from which he freed the blacks, 

She rivets on the whites. — A?wn.^ 1835. 



445 



J. F. Cooper. 
1789-1851. 

Here's Cooper, who's written six volumes to show 
He's as good as a lord ; well, let's grant that he's so. 
If a person prefer that description of praise, 

, Why, a coronet's certainly cheaper than bays. 

But he need take no pains to convince us he's not 

(As his enemies say) the American Scott 

He has drawn you one character, though, that is new. 

One wild flower he's pluck'd that is wet with the dew 

All his other men-figures are clothes upon sticks, 

I The dernier che77iise of a man in a fix 

(As a captain, besieged, when his garrison's small, 

; Sets up caps upon poles, to be seen o'er the wall). 

Lowell. 

Mr. Cooper describes things to the life, but he puts no 
motion into them. While he is insisting on the minutest details, 
and explaining all the accompaniments of an incident, the story 
stands still. The elaborate accumulation of particulars serves 
not to embody his imagery, but to distract and impede the 
mind. He is not so much the master of his materials as their 
drudge : he labours under an epilepsy of the fancy. He thinks 
himself bound in his character of novelist to tell the truth, the 
whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Thus, if two men are 
struggling on the edge of a precipice for life or death, he goes 
not merely into the vicissitudes of action and passion as the 
chances of the combat vary j but stops to take an inventory of 
the geography of the place, the shape of the rock, the precise 

' attitude and display of the limbs and muscles, with the eye and 
habits of a sculptor. Mr. Cooper does not seem to be aware 
of the infinite divisibility of mind and matter; and that an 
''abridgment" is all that is possible or desirable in the most 
hidividual representation. A person who is so determined, 
may write volumes on a grain of sand or an insect's wing. 
Why describe the dress and appearance of an Indian chief, 
:lown to his tobacco-stopper and button-holes ? It is mistaking 
:he province of the artist for that of the historian ; and it is 
:his veiy obligation of painting and statuary to fill up all the 

|ietails, that renders them incapable of telling a story, or of 



44^ y. F. Cooper — Walter Bryan Procter. 



expressing more than a single moment, group, or figure. 
Poetry or romance does not descend into the particulars, but 
atones for it by a more rapid march and an intuitive glance at 
the more striking results. By considering trutli or matter-of-fact 
as the sole element of popular fiction, our author fails in massing 
and in impulse. In the midst of great vividness and fidelity j 
of description, both of nature and manners, there is a sense of 
jejuneness, — for half of what is described is insignificant and 
indifterent ; there is a hard outline, — a little manner ; and his 
most striking situations do not tell as they might and ought, 
from his seeming more anxious about the mode and circum- 
stances than the catastrophe. In short, he anatomizes his 
subjects ; and his characters bear the same relation to living 
beings that the botanic specimens collected in a portfolio do 
to the living pkmt or tree. — Edinburgh Review^ 1829. 

Waller Br)an Procter. 

1790. I 

To-day I fmi.shcd a second reading of Barry Cornwall's 
])oems. Scarcely any tether can bring my nose down to that 
rank herbage which is springing up about us in our walk of j 
poetry. But liow fresh and sweet is 13arry Cornwall's ! — he I 
unites the best qualities of tlie richest moderns and the purest 
ancients. — W. S. Lander, 1836. 

One of the kindest, gentlest, and most amiable of natures ; 
a warm, true, and indefatigable friend ; an excellent family 1 
man, and in all his relations goiileless and simple as a child. I 
His writings, principally in verse, and some charming prose 
sketches of his, likewise partake, for the most part, of the gentle 
spirit of the man, with much of playfulness and phantasy \ but 
at times they rise into tragic force and graphic energy. — 1 
Madden' s Memoirs of Lady Blcssingtonr \ 

Edward Irving. 
1792-1834. 

I have got acquainted with iSIr. Irving, the Scotch preacher, 
whose fame must have reached you. He is a humble disciple 
at the feet of Gamaliel (S(amuel) T(aylor) C(oleridge). Judge 



Edward Irving, 



447 



how his own sectarists must stare when I tell you he has 
dedicated a work to S. T. C, acknowledging to have learnt 
more of the nature of Faith, Christianity, and Christian Church 
from him than from all the men he ever conversed with. He 
is a most sincere, amiable, modest man in a room, this 
Boanerges in the Temple. Mrs. Montagu told him the dedi- 
cation would do him no good. " That shall be a reason for doing 
it," was his answer. Judge now whether this man be a quack. — ■ 
Charles Lamb, 

Pringle : " Why, you have not left the Kirk for the Scarlet 
Lady, I hope, Mr. Campbell ?" Campbell : I have not 
yet publicly renounced it. I once was as orthodox as I ought 
to have been." Pringle : "You have not yet heard Irving ; he 
will make a convert of you. Everybody, high and low, has 
heard him ; all the town runs after him." Campbell : " So they 
will after any novelty, and get tired. It is strange any wise 
person should call such wild outbreaks of distempered brains 
religion. People do not want their passions inflamed now by 
religion to set them against oppressors ; they want a more sober 
rational faith." Pringle : " Irving will tell us we must abandon 
reason altogether to become true believers." Campbell : " In 
other words abandon that which makes the only difference 
between human and animal existence — who made him so much 
wiser than our old Glasgow clerks, or than we are ourselves ? 
it is but assumption. You did not leave Africa to become a 
disciple of this new apostle of Scotland ?" Pringle : But he 
is a wonderfully clever man." Campbell: "He is a novelty; 
he assumes new airs because the old are time-worn, and the 
multitude love religious change as well as anything else that 
shifts the scene." Pringle : " I grant he is a novelty in the 
pulpit in countenance and manner. He has no idea of the 
'good old way,' and most people run after him as they would 
after a new show. He is a shrewd preacher, who well under- 
stands how to make an impression upon the minds of his 
hearers." Campbell : " It is half the effect of his look, the 
other half not the effect of sober preaching. People love abuse 
from the pulpit as well as elsewhere. He seems a divergence 
from Christianity towards some crude thing of which he has 
himself no specific idea — he plays monkey tricks and people 
catch at them." Pringle: "You have not heard him, Mr. 
Campbell, but he is very striking." Campbell : "Theatrical, I 
suppose ?" Pringle : " I don't know that ; he rivets the atten- 



448 Edward Irving — Percy ByssJie Shelley. 



tion strongly by his personal appearance." Campbell : " Ay, 
dresses the character well, as the people say at the theatre." 
Pringle : That we should call a profane comparison in 
Scotland." Campbell : " We are the wrong side the Tweed 
now, and have no fear of the Kirk-stool. How is his matter, 
his language ? As to his denunciations, we might make them 
as glibly and with as good right as he." Pringle : Hiey seem 
good ; his outbreaks produce their effect on the congregation." 
Campbell : " That they would do the more if they were more 
still out of the way of common pulpits. I have seen his book, 
it is ail miserable affectation and commonplace nonsense, 
couched in the worst style." — Redding' s Li/c of TJionias 
Campbdir 

I liave read a few of his orations, and the third, if I mistake 
not, pleased me very much. But I could not proceed ; 
tlic \er}^ bad taste, and those amhitiosa ornafnenta, which 
Horace so justly reprobates, disgusted me exceedingly. The 
first charm of a preacher, in my opinion, is to possess his con- 
gregation with a conviction that he is thoroughly in earnest. 
The subjects in the i)ulpit are of too momentous a concern to 
be made the materials of oratorical flourishes ; and whatever 
tends to show the teacher more intent upon displaying his own 
abilities than persuading or convincing his hearers, is not only 
bad taste, but a pitiful aberration from what ought to be his 
sole object. — Hannah More. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
1 792-1822. 

Julian is an Englishman of good family, passionately attached 
to 'those philosophical notions which assert the power of man 
over his own mind, and the immense improvements of which, 
by the extinction of certain moral superstitions, human society 
may be yet susceptible. Without concealing the evil in the 
world, he is for ever speculating how good may be made 
superior. He is a complete infidel, and a scoffer at all things 
reputed holy Julian is rather serious. — Shelley. 

The strong imagination of Shelley made him an idolater in 
his own despite. Out of the most indefinite terms of a hard, 
cold, dark, metaphysical system, he made a gorgeous Pantheon, 
full of beautiful, majestic, and life-like forms. He turned 



Percy Bysshe Shelley, 



449 



atheism itself into a mythology, rich with visions as glorious as 
the gods that live in the marble of Phidias, or the virgin saints 
that smile on us from the canvas of Murillo. The Spirit of 
Beauty, the Principle of Good, the Principle of Evil, when he 
treated of them, ceased to be abstractions. They took shape 
and colour. They were no longer mere words, but in- 
telligible forms j " fair humanities ; " objects of love, of adora- 
tion, or of fear. As there can be no stronger sign of a mind 
destitute of the poetical faculty than that tendency which was 
so common among the writers of the French school to turn 
images into abstractions — Venus, for example, into Love, 
Minerva into Wisdom, Mars into War, Bacchus into Festivity— 
so there can be no stronger sign of a mind truly poetical than 
a disposition to reverse this abstracting process, and to make 
individuals out of generalities. Some of the metaphysical 
and ethical theories of Shelley were certainly most absurd and 
pernicious. But we doubt whether any modern poet has pos- 
sessed in an equal degree some of the highest qualities of the 
great ancient masters. His poetry seems not to have been 
an art but an inspiration. Had he lived to the full age of man 
he might not improbably have given to the world some great 
work of the very highest rank in design and execution.— 
Macaulay 

Shelley disdained common sense. Of his Prince Athanase^^ 
we have no earthly comprehension, with his " Prometheus " 
we have no human sympathies, and the grander he becomes 
the less popular we find \i\m— Lord Lytio7i, 

His fancy (and he had sufficient for a whole generation of 
poets) was the medium through which he saw all things, his 
facts as well as his theories ; and not only the greater part of 
his poetry, but the political and philosophical speculations in 
which he indulged, were all distilled through the same over- 
refining and unrealizing alembic Though benevolent 

and generous to an extent that seemed to exclude all idea 
of selfishness, he yet scrupled not, in the pride of system, to 
disturb wantonly the faith of his fellow-men, and without sub- 
stituting any equivalent good in its place, to rob the wretched 
of a hope which, even if false, would be worth all this Avorld's 
best truths. — Thomas Moore, 

Of this I am certain, that before his death the mind of that 
brilliant genius was rapidly changing — that for him the cross 
was gathering attractions around it— that the wall which he 

G G 



450 



Percy ByssJic Shelley. 



complained had been built up between his heart and his in- 
tellect was being broken down, and that rays of a strange 
splendour were already streaming upon him through the in- 
terstices. — A Icxmidcr Smith. 

I cannot help thinking of him as if he were alive as much 
as ever, so unearthly he appeared to me, and so seraphical 
a thing of the elements. — Z<v>// JJinit. 

The best and least selfish man I ever knew. — Byron. 

It was now, too, I was first invited to meet Shelley, and 
readily accepted the invitation. I went a little after the time, 
and seated myself at the place kept for me at the table, right 
opposite Shelley himself, as I was told after, for I did not then 
know what hectic, spare, weakly, yet intellectual looking crea- 
ture it was carving a bit of brocoli or cabbage in his plate, as 

if it had l)een the substantial wing of a chicken and 

his wife, and her sister, Keats, Horace Smith, and myself made 
up the party. In a few moments, Shelley opened the con- 
versation by saying, in the most feminine and gentle voice, 

" As to that detestable religion, the Christian " — B. R. 

Hay don. 

He loved truth, and sought it everywhere, and at all 
liazards, frankly and boldly, like a man who deserved to 
find it ; but he also dearly loved victory in debate, and 
warm debate, for its own sake. Never was there a more un- 
exceptionable disputant. He was eager beyond the most 
ardent, but never angry, and never personal. He was the only 
arguer I ever knew who drew every argument from the nature 
of the thing, and who never could be provoked to descend 
to personal contentions. — jVciu Monthly Magazi?u\ 1833. 

The errors of action, committed by a man as noble and 
generous as Shelley, may, as far only as he is concerned, be 
fearlessly avowed by those who loved him, in the firm convic- 
tion that were the>' judged impartially, his character would 
stand fairer and brighter than any of his contemporaries. — 
Mrs. Shelley. 

He looked like an elegant and slender flower whose head 

drooped from being surcharged with rain His gestures 

were abrupt, somedmes violent, occasionally even awkward, yet 
more frequenUy gentle and graceful. His complexion was 
deUcate, and almost feminine, of the purest red and white, yet 

he w^as tanned and freckled by exposure to the sun His 

features, his whole head and face, were particularly small, yet 



Percy Bysshe Shelley. 



the last appeared of a remarkable bulk, for his hair was long 
and bushy, and in fits of absence, and m the agonies (if I 
may use the word) of anxious thought, he often rubbed it 
fiercely with his hands, or passed his fingers swiftly through his 
locks, unconsciously, so that it was singularly rough and wild — 
a particularity which he had at school. His features were not 
symmetrical, the mouth perhaps excepted, yet was the effect of 
the whole extremely powerful. They breathed an animation — 
a fire — an enthusiasm — a vivid and preternatural intelligence 
that I never met with in any other countenance. — Medwi?i's 
Life of Shelley r 

His speculations wxre as wild as the experience of twenty 
years had shown them to be, but the zealous earnestness for the 
augmentation of knowledge, and the glowing philanthropy 
and boundless benevolence that marked them, are without 
parallel. — Jaines Hogg. 

Mr. Shelley Avas a remarkable man. His person was a type 
and shadow of his genius. His complexion, fair, golden, 
freckled, seemed transparent with an inward light, and his spirit 
v\dthin him 

" So divinely wrought 
That you might almost say his body thought." 

He reminded those who saw him of some of Ovid's fables. 
His form, graceful and slender, drooped like a flower in the 
breeze. But he was crushed beneath the weight of thought 
which he aspired to bear, and was withered in the lightning 
glare of a ruthless philosophy. He mistook the nature and 
faculty of his own feelings — the lowly children of the valley, 
by which the sky-lark makes its bed and the bee murmurs, for 
the proud cedar or the mountain-pine, in which the eagle 
builds its eyrie, and "dallies with the wind and scorns the sun." 
— Edinburgh Reviezu, 1824. 

Shelley's figure was tall and almost unnaturally attenuated, 
so as to bend to the earth Hke a plant that had been deprived 
of its vital air his features had an unnatural sharpness, and 
an unhealthy paleness, like a flower that has been kept from 



^ The reader will observe the repetition of comparing Shelley to a flower. 
The resemblance to a flower he must have forcibly suggested ; for here are 
three critics, who assuredly were no imitators of each other, expressing their 
impressions by means of the same image. — Ed. 

GG 2 



II 



452 Percy Bysslic ShcIIcy — Captain Marryat 



the light of day ; his eyes had an ahiiost superhuman bright- 
ness, and his voice a preternatural elevation of pitch and shrill- 
ness of tone ; all which peculiarities probably arose from some 
accidental circumstances connected with his early nurture 
and bringing up. — P. G. Patniore^ ''My Pr lends and Ac- 
quaintances. 

North : The worst dishonour done to his memory is the 
admiration in which his genius is held by feebles and fribbles, 
and coxcombs and cockneys. Tickler: And prigs. Shepherd: 
And siunphs. North : Their imitations of their oracle — who 
did indeed often utter glorious responses from a cloudy shrine 
all at once, and not transiently iUuminated from within by 
irrepressible native Hglit — are l)etter nonsense-\erses than I 
ever knew written by men of wit for a wager. For unconscious 
folly in its own peculiar walk can far surpass the wildest 
extravagance of wit — perfect no-meaning can be perpetrated 
only by a natural numbskull, and is beyond the reach of art. — 
Noctes A})ibrosiauLr!' 

Captain i\Iarr)'at. 

1 792-1848. 

He has a frank, dashing genius, and splashes about the water 
In grand style. He writes like a man., and that is more than 
most of the other novelists do, who have neither the vigour of 
one sex nor the refinement of the other — Lord Lytton. 

He may be said to have created a new kind of novel litera- 
ture, illustrative of naval life.^ And in that line, though followed 
and imitated by many, he has been equalled by none. — Dr. 
Madden,'" Life of Lady Blessington:' 

Captain Marryat, as everybody knows, is sailor and novelist 
by profession. Both his old callings stand in the way of his 
new one." He maybe right in saying, "After all, there is 
nothing like being a captain ! Nevertheless, a life at sea is a 

sorry preparation for judging of life ashore A grave 

and philosophical subject we are sure he could never fathom. 
It is a pity that he should not rest content with the goodly 



^ Smollett was the creator. — Ed. 
^ From a review of Marryat's Diary in America.'* 



Captain Marryat — Mrs. Hemans, 



453 



heritage that nature has assigned to him. His lot was marked 
out by the original diversity of human talents, and its boundary 
has still been more strongly drawn by the division of intel- 
lectual labour which that diversity creates. It lies in a pleasant 
land. Smollett has made a sorry figure by continuing the 
history of England. Hume would have probably made no 
better had he yielded to the temptation of continuing ''Roderick 
Random." In case the reflection is any comfort to him, let 
Captain Marryat picture to himself M. de Tocqueville engaged 
upon a second part of " Peter Simple." — Edinhn-gh Revieiu^ 
1839. 

If it were put upon me to define Captain Marryat as an 
author, and to mark him with an appropriate epithet, I should 
say that he is a pleasant writer. His leading excellence is the 
untiring nerve of his light, easy, and flowing pen, together with 
a keen sense of the ridiculous, which, while it rarely leads him 
into broad and unmeaning farce, effectually preserves him 
from taking a dull, sententious, or matter of-fact view either of 
men or things. His productions seem to cost him so little 
that one thinks he might Avrite on for a life uninterruptedly, 
'' eating, drinking, and sleeping hours excepted," and so pro- 
bably he will till the cajievas is totally exhausted. That there 
is no trace of effort in anything he does is in itself a charm. 
But after all his great and peculiar excellence is his originality 
— that he is himself alone ; and that as he borrows from nobody, 
so on the other hand nobody can safely borrow from him. — T, 
Cajjipbell^ A^ew Mojithly Magazine. 

A captain in the navy, and an honour to it — an admirable 
sailor, and an admirable writer — and would that he, too, were 
with us on the leads, my lads, for a pleasanter fellov/, to those 

who know him, never enlivened the social board He 

would have stood in the first-class of sea-scribes had he written 
nothing but '' Peter Simple." — Noctes Ambi'osiance'' 

Mrs. Hemans. 
1794-1835. 

Without disparagement of the living, we scarcely hesitate to 
say that in Mrs. Hemans our female literature has lost perhaps 
its brightest ornament. To Joanna Baillie she might be inferior, 
not only in vigour of conception, but in the power of metaphy- 



454 



Mrs, Hnuaus, 



sical y analyzing those sentiments and feelings, which constitute 
the bases of human action ; to Mrs. Jameson, in that critical 
perception which, from detached fragments of spoken thought 
can discriminate the links which bind all into a distinctive cha- 
racter; to Miss Landon, in eloquent facility ; to Caroline Bowles, 
m simple pathos ; and to Mary Mitford, in power of thought : 
but as a female writer, influencing the female mind, she has 
undoubtedly stood, for some by-past years, the very first in the 
first rank ; and this pre-eminence has been acknowledged, not 
only in her own land, but wherever the English tongue is spoken, 
whether on the banks of the eastern Ganges, or the western 
Mississippi. Her path was her own ; and shoals of imitators 
have arisen alike at home, and on the other side of the Atlantic, 
who, destitute of her animating genius, have mimicked her 
themes, and parodied her sentiments and language, without 
being able to reach its height. In her poetiy, reli<<ious truth 
and intellectual beauty meet together; and assuredly it is not 
the less calculated to refine the taste and exalt the imagination, 
because it addresses itself almost exclusively to the better feel- 
ings of our nature alone. Over all her pictures of humanity 
are spread the glor>' and the grace reflected from purity of 
morals, delicacy of perception and conception, sublimity of 
religious faith, and warmth of patriotism ; and turning from the 
dark and degraded, whether in subject or sentiment, she seeks 
out those verdant oases in the desert of human life, on which 
the aftections may most pleasantly rest.— y^?//;/ Wilson, 1835. 

Egeria (Mrs. Hemans) was totally difterent from any other 
woman I had ever seen, either in Italy or England. She did 
not dazzle ; she subdued me. Other women might be more 
commanding, more versatile, more acute ; but I never saw one 
so exquisitely feminine. She was lovely without being beauti- 
ful ; her mo\ ements were features ; and if a blind man had 
been privileged to pass his hand over the silken length of hair 
that when unbraided flowed round her like a veil, he would 
have been justified in expecting softness and a k)ve of softness, 
beauty and a perception of beauty, to be distinctive traits of 
her mind. Is or would he have been deceived. Her birth, her 
education, but above all, the genius with which she was gifted, 
combined to inspire a passion for the ethereal, the tender, the 
imaginative, the heroic — in one word, the beautiful. Her 
knowledge was extensive and various, but true to the first prin- 
ciple of her nature, it was poetry- that she sought in histor\', 



Mrs. Henians. 



scenery, character, and religious belief— poetry that guided all 
her studies, governed all her thoughts, coloured all her conver- 

sation I might describe, but describe for ever, but I should 

never succeed in portraying Egeria : she was a muse, a grace, a 
variable child, a dependant woman— the Italy of human beings, 
— Miss jf^ewsbury. 

That holy spirit. 
Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep. — Wordsworth. 

I cannot well conceive a more exquisitely beautiful creature 
than Mrs. Hemans was ; none of the portraits or busts I have 
ever seen do her justice ; nor is it possible for words to convey 
to the reader any idea of the matchless yet serene beauty of 
her expression. Her glossy, waving hair was parted on her 
forehead, and terminated on the sides in rich and luxuriant 
auburn curls. There was a dove-like look in her eyes, and yet 
a chastened sadness in their expression. Her complexion was 
remarkably clear, and her high forehead looked as pure and 
spotless as Parian marble. A calm repose, not unmingled with 
melancholy, w^as the characteristic expression of the face j but 
when she smiled all traces of sorrow were lost, and she seemed 
to be "but a Httle lower than the angels."— /^<f;? a?zd Ink 
Sketches.'^ 

Showed Shelley some poems to w^hich I had subscribed, by 
Felicia Browne, whom I had met in North Wales, where she 
had been on a visit at the house of a connexion of mine. She 
was then sixteen, and it was impossible not to be struck with 
the beauty (for beautiful she was), the grace, and charming 
simplicity and naivete of this interesting girl ; and on my return 
from Denbighshire I made her and her works frequent subjects 
of conversation with Shelley. Her juvenile productions, re- 
markable certainly for her age — and som.e of those which the 
volume contained were written when she was a mere child — ■ 
made a powerful impression on Shelley, ever enthusiastic in his 
admiration of talent ; and with a prophetic spirit he foresaw the 
coming greatness of that genius which, under the name of 
Hemans, afterwards electrified the world. — T. Medwin, " Life 
of Shelley:' 

Mrs. Hemans is somewhat too poetical for my taste— too 
many flowers, I mean, and too little fruit ; but that may be the 
cynical criticism of an elderly gentleman. — Sir W. Scott. 

The slight bravura dash of the fair^ tuneful Hemans, — 
Cctrlyle, 



45^ 



J/;x Hcifiajis — Dr. Mag'utJi. 



Her poetry is infinitely sweet, elegant, and tender — touching, 
perhaps, and contemplative, rather than vehement or over- 
jjowering ; and not only finished throughout with exquisite 
delicacy, and even serenity of execution, but infomied with a 
loftiness and purity of feeling, and a certain sober and humble 
tone of indulgence and piety, which must satisfy all judgments, 
and allay the apprehensions of those who are most afraicl of the 
passionate exaggerations of poeir)\ The diction is always 
beautiful, harmonious, and free — and the themes, though of 
infinite variety, uniformly treated with a grace, originality, and 
judgment which mark the same master hand. — FAiinbur^h 
Rr,icii\ 1829. 

I have been thinking much lately of poor Mrs. Remans, that 
sweet singer of Britain, now for ever silent. In the Con- 
temjjlation of a Girls' School at Evening Prayer" she clothes 
many fine and hallowed images in the rich melody of her own 
peculiar language, and is led on by her own perception and sad 
experience to anticipate that state of trial and suffering to which 
the better and the gentler sex seem predestined ; looking for- 
ward from the serene purity of their evening devotions to the 
pains and cares that are the sad inheritance of even the most 
virtuous and excellent females, in the perfomiance of many 
painfiil tluties, and the disappointment of many tender and 
sanguine hopes. There is one line, dictated no doubt by her 
personal and peculiar feelings, which opens a volume of those 
evils, too deep, too delicate for exposure, for which earth aftbrds 
no remedy — 

'Tis to make idols and to find them clay." 

There is not a line in the English language more full of deep 
and sad meaning. — Mrs. Grant's " Letters'' 

Dr. Maginn. 
J794-1S42. 

On the few occasions of my having the pleasure of being in 
his society, his conversation was ver\^ lively and original— a 
singular mixture of classical erudition and Irish fun. There 
was a good deal of wit, and still more of droller)', and certainly 
no deficiency of what is called conviviality and animal spirits. 
1 remember on one occasion having heard from some 



Dr. Magiiin. 



457 



common friend that he seemed to be throwing away a great 
deal of talent on ephemeral productions, I took the liberty of 
advising him to direct his great powers to some more permanent 
objects, and he told me that he contemplated some serious 
work, I think on the Greek drama, but of this I am not quite 
sure. It might have been the Greek orators. I had a high 
opinion of his power to illustrate either. — y, JV. Croker, 

In 1 84 1 his friend Fraser died, and an incident occurred at 
the funeral which is recorded as an instance of exception to 
Maginn's general character, to which sentiment and romance 
were quite foreign. The obsequies took place at Bunhill Fields, 
in the same graveyard which holds the remains of John Bunyan. 
As soon as the ceremony was over, the doctor said to the 
grave-digger, Grave-digger, show me the tomb of John 
Bunyan." The grave-digger led the way, and was followed by 
Maginn, w^ho appeared particularly thoughtful. As they ap- 
proached the place, the doctor turned to the person who 
accompanied him, and tapping him on the shoulder, said 
quietly, Tread lightly." Maginn bent over the grave for 
some time in melancholy mood, and seemed unconscious of 
any one's presence. The bright sunshine poured around him. 
At length he seemed moved, and turning away, exclaimed in 
deep and solemn tones, Sleep on, thou prince of dreamers." 
— Chambers, 

His talents were doubtless of a high order, and his scholar- 
ship and education infinitely superior to those of his friend 
Hook, for such he soon became ; but unfortunately he possessed 
the same excitable and erratic temperament, only exaggerated, 
Hibernized to a degree that rendered it somewhat unsafe to 
rely upon him in a matter demanding the prudence and 
punctuality to be observed in the conduct of a weekly paper.— 
Barha7n, 

Dr. Maginn of Cork, — a man Blackwood says of singular 

talent and great learning ; indeed, some of the happiest things 
in the magazine have been from his pen. — yo/m Gait to Lady 
Blessingto?i, 



1! 



458 



John Keats. 
1795-1S21. 

But now thy youngest, dearest one has perished, 
The nursHng of the widowhood, who grew 
Like a pale tlower by some sad maiden clierislied. 
And fed with true-love tears instead of dew. 
Most musical of mourners, weep anew ! 
Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last, 
The bloom, whose petals nipj/d before they blew, 
^ Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste ; 
The broken lily lies — the storm is overpast. — S/ic//n\ 

The admiration of the writings of Keats survives the hot 
impulse of early years, and these pages often remain open, 
when the clamorous sublimities of Shelley and Byron come to 
be unwelcome intruders on the calm of maturer age. — Lord 
Hou^/iton. 

He combined a terrier-like resoluteness with the most noble 
placability. — Anon., i]uoitd by Lord Iloughtoti} 

A loose, slack, and not well dressed youth, met me in a lane 
near Highgate. It was Keats. He was introduced to me and 
stayed a minute or so. After he had left us a little way, he ran 
back and .said, Let me carry away the memory, Coleridge, of 
having pressed your hand." ''There is death in that hand," I 
said when Keats was gone ; yet this was, I believe, before the 
consumption showed itself distinctly. — Colcrid:^e. 

My indignation at Mr. Keats's depreciation of Pope has 
hardly permitted me to do justice to his own genius, which, 
maJgrc all the fantastic fopperies of his style, was undoubtedly 
of great promise. His fragment of " Hyperion " seems actually 
inspired by the Titans, and is as sublime as yEschylus. He 
is a loss to our literature; and the more so, as he himself before 
his death is said to have been persuaded that he had not taken 
the right line, and was reforming his style upon the more classical 
models of the language. — Byron. 



^ Of Lord Houghton, Leigh Hunt says, " I bask in the bmsque geniality 
of the said Monckton, who is a good fellow, and large-brained withal. 
Item, his wife hath a smile as sweet as a sudden piece of good news. "' — - 
Hunfs Correspondence.^^ 



John Keats, 



459 



His eyes were large and blue, his hair auburn ; he wore it 
divided down the centre, and it fell in rich masses each side 
his face ; his mouth was full and less intellectual than his other 
features. His countenance lives in my mind as one of singular 
beauty and brightness ; it had the expression as if he had been 
looking on some glorious sight. The shape of his face had 
not the squareness of a man's, but more hke some women's 
faces I have seen. — A?i07t.^ quoted by Lord Hoiighto7i. 

Thy clear strong tones will oft bring sudden bloom 
Of hope secure to him who lonely cries, 
Wrestling with the young poet's agonies. 
Neglect and scorn, Avhich seem a certain doom, 

T, R. Loiuell. 

Mr. Keats had a very manly as wxll as delicate spirit. He 
was personally courageous in no ordinary degree, and had the 
usual superiority of genius to little arts and the love of money. 
His patrimony, which was inconsiderable, he freely used in 
part, and even risked altogether, to relieve the wants of others, 
and forward their views. He was handsome, with remarkably 
beautiful hair, curling in natural ringlets. — Hunt, 

His compositions are flushed all over with the rich lights of 
fancy, and so coloured and bestrewn that even while per- 
plexed and bewildered in their labyrinths, it is impossible to 
resist the intoxication of their sweetness, or to shut our hearts 
to the enchantments they so lavishly present. — Edinhirgh. 
Review. 

Calm, settled, imperturbable, drivelling idiotcy. — Quarterly 
Review. 

He was below the middle size, with a low forehead and an 
eye that had an inward look perfectly divine, like a Delphian 
priestess who saw visions. The greatest calamity for Keats 
was his being brought before the world by a set who had so 
much the habit of puffing each other that every one connected 
with it suffered in public estimation. Hence every one was 
inchned to disbeheve his genius. After the first criticism in 
the Quarterly^ somebody from Dartmouth sent him 25/. I told 
Mrs. Hoppner this, and begged her to go to Gittord, and 
endeavour to prevent his assault on " Endymion." She told 
me she found him writing, with his green shade before his eyes, 
totally insensible to all reproach or entreaty. " How can you, 
Gifford^ dish up in this dreadful manner a youth who has never 



460 



John Keats — Dr, Arnold, 



offended you ? '-It has done him good," replied Gifford ; 
'Mie has had 25/. from Devonshire." — B. R. Haydoii} 

Oh I who so well could sing love's joys and ])ains ? 
He lived in melody, as if his veins 
Poured music ; from his lips came words of fire, 
The voice of Greece, the tones of Homer's lyre. 

E. Elliott, 

John Keats was one of those sweet and glorious spirits who 
descend like tlie angel messengers of old, to discharge some 
divine command, not to dwell here. Pure, ethereal, glowing 
with the fervency of inward life, the bodily vehicle appears 
assumed but for the occasion, and as a mist, as a shadow, is 
ready to dissolve llic instant that occasion is served. — W. 
I/o:.'itt. 

Dr. Arnold. 
1795-1842. 

Dr. Arnold, it sccms to me, was not (juite saintly ; his great- 
ness was cast in a mortal mould : he was a little severe, almost 
a little hard ; he was vehement, and somewhat oppugnant. 
Himself the most indefiitigable of workers, I know not whether 
he could have understood or made allowance for a tempera- 
ment that required more rest ; yet not to one man in twenty 
thousand is given his great faculty of labour, — by virtue of it 



^ Elsewhere in the "Memoirs,'' edited by T. Taylor, Haydon says of 
Keats: "He began life full of hopes— fiery, impetuous, ungovernable, 
expecting the world to fall at once beneath his powers. Poor fellow ! his 
genius had no sooner begun to bud, than hatred and malice spat their 
poison on its leaves, and, sensitive and young, it shrivelled beneath their 
effusions. Unable to bear the sneers of ignorance or the attacks of envy, 
not having strength of mind enough to buckle himself together like a 
porcupine, and present nothing but his prickles to his enemies, he began 
to despond, flew to dissipation as a relief, which, after a temporary elevation 
of spirits, plunged him into deeper despondency than ever. For six weeks 
he was scarcely sober, and to show what a man does to gratify his habits, 
when once they get the better of him, he once covered his tongue and 
throat as far as he could reach with cayenne pepper, in order to appreciate 
the 'delicious coldness of claret in all its glory'— his own expression."— 
Ed. 



Dr, Arnold. 



461 



he seems to me the greatest of working mm,— Charlotte 
Bronte, 

Both his virtues, lofty as they were, and his talents, were of 
an eminently practical order ; nor were his very peculiarities 
without their usefulness. If he had been a severer analyst than 
he was — a man of judgment, more free from the impulses of the 

j affections — a man less solicitous about the polemics of his day 
— ^more patient in investigation, and less ready to grasp at 
obvious solutions of difficulties — in one word, less of a theorist, 
he might have been greater as a literary man ; but he could 
scarcely have possessed, along Avith these faculties, his own 
distinctive excellence. — Edmburgh Review^ 1843. 

A most singular and striking change has come upon our 
public schools This change is undoubtedly part of a 

j general improvement of our generation, in respect of piety and 
reverence ; but I am sure that to Dr. Arnold's personal earnest 
simplicity of purpose, strength of character, power of influence 
and piety, which none who ever came near him could mis° 
take or question, the carrying of this improvement into our 
schools is mainly attributable. He was the first. — Dr. Moberly, 

'Twas his to teach, 
Day after day, from pulpit and from desk, 
That the most childish sin which man can do 
Is yet a sin which Jesus never did 
When Jesus w^as a child, and yet a sin 
For which, in lowly pain, He lived and died : 
That for the bravest sin that e'er was praised 
The King Eternal wore a crown of thorns. 
In him was Jesus crucified again ; 
For every sin which he could not prevent 
Stuck in him like a nail ; his heart bled for it, 
As it had been a foul sin of his own. 
Heavy his cross, and stoutly did he bear it. 
Even to the foot of holy Calvary ; 
And if at last he sunk beneath the weight. 
There were not wanting souls whom he had taught 
The way to Paradise, that, in white robes, 
Throng'd to the gate to hail their shepherd home ! 

Ha7'tley Coleridge. 

When he came to Oxford he was a mere boy in appearance, 
as well as in age, but we saw in a very short time that he w^as 



462 



Dr, Arnold — Tliovias Carlylc. 



(luite equal to take his part in the arguments of the Common 
Room. As he was ecjual so he was ready to take part in our 
discussions ; he was fond of conversation on serious matters, and 
vehement in argument ; fearless, too, in advancing his opinions 
— which, to say the truth, often startled us a good deal ; but 
he was ingenuous and candid, and though the fearlessness with ^ 
which, so young as he was, he advanced his opinions, might % 
have seemed to betoken presumption, yet the good tem})er f 
with which he bore retort or rebuke relieved him from that 
imputation ; he was ])ol(l and warm, because, as far as his 
knowledge went, he saw \cry clearly, and he was an ardent 
lover of truth — but I never saw in him even then a grain of 
vanity or conceit. — Mr. Justice Color 'uh^c. 

He held that the work of Christianity itself was not accom- 
plished so long as social and political institutions were exempt 
from its influence — so long as the highest power of human 
society ])rofcssed to act on other i)rinciplcs than those declared 
in the Cospcl ; but whenever it should come to pass that the 
strongest earthly bond should be identical with the bond of 
Christian fellowship — that the highest earthly power should 
avowedly minister to the advancement of Christian holiness — 
that crimes should be regarded as sins — that Christianity should 
be the acknowledged basis of citizenship — that the region of 
national and political questions, war and peace, oaths and 
punishments, economy and education, so long considered by 
good and bad alike as worldly and profane, should be looked 
upon as the very sphere to which Christian principles are most 
applicable — then he felt that Christianity would at last have 
gained a position where it would cope, for the first time, front 
to front with the power of evil ; that the unfulfilled promises of 
the older prophecies, so long delayed, would have received 
their accomplishment, that the kingdoms of this Avorld would 
have indeed become the kingdoms of the Lord and of His 
Christ.—^. P. Stanley. 

Thomas Carlyle. 
I79S- 

With regard to Mr. Carlyle s style— we have heard much of its 
affectation. If it be true that he is an affected writer no one 



Thomas Carlyle. 



463 



can have any business to claim for him a place among the 
Pantagruelists ; for affectation is itself a cant. But we believe 
that the case is not so. When a man's power of thinking tran- 
scends his power of language, a colouring of pedantry and 
quaintness will often attach itself to his writings, and if he has 
convinced himself that the common literary style of his country- 
men is used as a vehicle for the concealment or inadequate ' 
expression of thought, he will be not unlikely to substitute for 
it the plain speaking of colloquial intercourse, though this should 
occasionally verge towards vulgarity. Hence 77ianneris7n ; 
but we can by no means see that inajinerisin must necessarily 
be affectation. Some of our readers v/ill perhaps be startled 
by the assertion Y\'e are about to make — that Mr. Carlyle's style 
is identical in its leading peculiarities with that of Bishop 
Andrewes. — Qica7'terly Review^ 1847. 

Hooded and wrapped about with that strange and antique 
garb, there walks a kingly, a most royal soul, even as the 
Emperor Charles walked amidst solemn cloisters under a 
monk's cowl — a monarch still in soul. — Lo7igfeUow^ " Outre 
Me7^r 

There are persons mole blind to the soul's make and style, 

Who insist on a likeness 'twixt him (Emerson) and Carlyle. 

To compare him with Plato would be vastly fairer, 

Carlyle's the more burly, but E. is the rarer. 

He sees fewer objects, but clearlier, trueher, 

If C.'s as original, E.'s more peculiar. 

That he's more of a man you might say of the one, 

Of the other he's more of an Emerson. 

C.'s the Titan, as shaggy of mind as of limb — 

E. the clear-eyed Olympian, rapid and slim ; 

The one two-thirds Norseman, the other half Greek, 

Where the one's most abounding, the other's to seek ; 

C.'s generals require to be seen in the mass ; 

E.'s specialities gain if enlarged by the glass. 

C. gives Nature and God his own fits of the blues, 

And rims common-sense things with mystical hues. 

E. sits in a mystery calm and intense. 

And looks calmly around him with sharp common sense. 

C. shows you how every-day matters unite 

With the dim transdiurnal recesses of night. 

While E. in a plain preternatural way 

Makes mysteries matters of mere every day. 



464 



Tlio))ias Carlylc. 



C. draws all his characters quite a la Fusdi — 
He don't sketch their bundles of muscles and thews illy, 
But he paints with a brush so untamed and profuse, 
Thcv seem nothim^ but bundles of muscles and thews. 

Lou^cll. 

Carlylc is like pickles ; only a little of him can be tasted with 
any relish at a time. — Dr. Mackay. 

The ingenious Tom Carlyle. — Jivnes Hogg. 

Mr. Carlyle formerly wrote for the Edinburgh RtTinc — a 
man of talents, though absurdly overpraised by some of his 
admirers. I believe, though I do not know, that he ceased to 
write, because the oddities of his diction, and his new words, 
comjjounded a la Tcuto}iiqin\ drew such strong remonstrances 
from Nai)ier. — Macaulay to /. Iliaif. 

Although Mr. Carlyle first i>roi)Oiuulcd his views of Hero- 
worship in a series of lectures, yet it is easy to discern from his 
studied (sometimes jiainfully studied) style of writing that he 
is not well adapted for an orator. We once heard him deliver 
a few sentiments at a jniblic meeting ; but he spoke, and that 
was all. Though manifestly bursting with ideas, he could not 
give them vent. The words that came uppennost did not 
please him, and he waited for others. Although he did what 
the best orators have been defined to do — though he thought 
upon his legs'' — he did not think aloud, and the intervals 
between his silent thoughts and the expression of them, were 
too long and too frequent for the patience of a mixed auditory. 
Yet the few sentences he did utter were aphorisms full of 
wisdom. — R. Chambers. 

We shall regard it as one of the most melancholy evidences 
of the decline of all pure and healthful literature, if the 
writings of Mr. Carlyle continue to have an enduring hold 
upon the popular mind. — Church of England Quarterly 
Rrc'iezi'. 

A man who, though no systematic philosopher, has probably 
done more to spiritualize philosophy in England, than any other 
modern writer. — y. R. Morell. 

Of his style, on which so much has been said and written, 
we will say nothing, further than to remark that his mode of 
expression has become eftectually inter\voven with his manner 
of thought ; so that the faults of the latter are for the most part 
occasioned by the quaint, unusual forms in^ which the meaning 
is conveyed. Hence not unfrequentlywe meet in all Mr. Carlyle's ' 



Thomas Carlyle — Hartley Coleridge. 465 



writings with long elaborate passages, full of the most vivid 
picture-waiting, and characterized by vigour of imagination ; 
but, when examined, containing no novelty of thought. Old 
common-places, which are in the mouth of every one, thus are 
made to assume an appearance of originality, so as perhaps to 
deceive the writer himself, who certainly does not seem aware 
that a majority of his opinions on men and things are by no 
means in advance of the age, but are already the common pro- 
perty of a great number of the intellectual and intelligent of his 
countrymen. — Ano7i, 

Thomas Carlyle I excuse — he is entitled to be crazy, being 
a man of genius. North : And of virtue — as Cowper said of 
his brother, A man of morals and of manners too." Tickler : 
But, oh, sir ! the impudent stupidity of some of the subscribers 
to that Signet Seal ! North : Hopeless of achieving 
mediocrity in any of the humbler walks of their native litera- 
ture, the creatures expect to acquire character by acquaintance 
with the drivel of German dotage, and, going at once to the 
fountain head, gabble about Goethe, " The Master !" Yes, and 
I beseech you, Hal, look at the flunkies \—'Noctes Ambrosiafic^J^ 

Hartley Coleridge. 

1796-1849. 

Nature will either end thee quite ; 

Or, lengthening out thy season of delight, 

Preserve for thee, by individual right, 

A young lamb's heart, among the full-grown flocks. 

What hast thou to do with sorrow. 

Or the injuries of to-morrow.^ 

Thou art a dewdrop which the morn brings forth. 

Ill-fitted to sustain unkindly shocks. 

Or to be trailed along the soiling earth : 

A gem that glitters whilst it lives, 

And no forewarning gives ; 

But at the touch of wrong, without a strife. 

Slips in a moment out of life. — Wordsworth, 1802. 

It was so, rather than by a regular course of study, that he 
was educated — by desultory reading, by the living voice of 
Coleridge, Southey, and Wordsworth, Lloyd, Wilson, and De 
Quincey ; and again by homely familiarity with town's folk and 

H H 



466 Hartley Coleridge — William Cullen Bryant. 



country folk of every degree ; lastly, by daily recurring hours of 
solitude — by lonely wanderings with the murmur of the Brathay 
in his ear. — Dcnuaii Coleridge. 

How far, it may be asked, did the circumstances of Hartley 
Coleridge's life interfere with the largest exercise of his poetic 
powers ? Their influence, we should say, must have been 
ad\ erse, so far as they deprived him of that masculine invigora- 
tion which is often produced by the friendly oppugnancy of 
pursuits, independent of inclination. He would have doubtless 
been a greater poet if he had been less exclusively a poet ; for 
the stronger and therefore the loftier the stem, the higher will 
its blossom and fruitage wave in the air. It is obvious, how- 
ever, that avocations so utterly at variance with his whole 
nature as the management of a school must have tended rather 
to paralyze than to discipline his powers. Literary success 
might have stimulated his mind to more of continuous exertion ; 

yet on this subject no general rule can be laid down So 

large a bequest as he has left us is seldom so unalloyed a one. 
A noble moral spirit will long continue to be diffused from his 
poetry ; a moral lesson not less deep is to be found in that 
poetrv taken in connexion with his life. — Edinhirgh Ix'nird'y 
1851.' 

William Cullen Bryant. I 

It is indeed in the beautiful that the genius of Bryant finds 
its prime delight. He ensouls all dead insensate things in that 
deep and delicate sense of their seeming life, in which they 
breathe and smile before the eyes that love all they look 
upon," and thus there is animation and enjoyment in the heart 
of the solitude. — Professor Wilson. 

Bryant's ^^Titings transport us into the depths of the solemn 
primeval forest, to the shores of the lonely lakes — the banks of 
the wild nameless stream, or the brow of the rocky upland, 
rising like a promontory from amidst a wide ocean of foliage ; 
while they shed around us the glory of a climate, fierce in its 
extremes, but splendid in — Washington Irving. 



467 



Thomas Hood. 

1798-1845. 

Stranger, if to' thee 
His claim to memory be obscure. 
If thou wouldst learn how truly great was he, 
Go, ask it of the poor. — y. R, LowelL 

Young in years, not in power. Our new Ovid ! — only more 
imaginative ! — painter to the visible eye — and the inward ; 
commixture of what the superficial deem incongruous elements. 
Instructive living proof how close lie the founts of laughter 
and tears ! Thou fermenting brain, oppressed as yet by its own 
riches ! Though melancholy would seem to have touched thy 
heart with her painful, salutary hand, yet is thy fancy mercurial, 
undepressed, and sparkles and crackles more from the contact 
— as the northern lights when they near the frozen pole.— 
Wainwright. 

Of gentle heart and open hand. Foe to none but the bigot, 
the pedant, and the quack. Friend to the suffering, the care- 
worn, and the needy ; to the victims of a cruel greed, to all 
that are desolate and oppressed — Hood, the generous, kind, 
and true. — Anon.^ quoted by T, Hood, yun> 

In the art of punning, whatever be its merits or demerits, 
Hook had few rivals, and but one superior, if, mdeed, one- 
Mr. Thomas Hood. — Barham. 

In looking to the character of Mr. Hood's mind we are 
immediately struck Avith the variety which it displays. We do 
not at the present day require to be told that there is no in- 
compatibility between wit and pathos, or that sensibility and 
humour may dwell together in the same heart, for we have been 
rendered famiHar with such associations in the character of our 
greatest writers. But in Hood this alliance is more than 
usually conspicuous. He is open to all influences, and yields 
himself with equal pliancy to all. He can call up the most 
grotesque conceptions — the most incongruous and ludicrous 
imagery ; whole trains of comic and mirth-inspiring fancies wait 
upon his will without an effort, but he seems to find himself as 
m.uch at home in the contemplation of serious human emotion 
— in listening to, or echoing back, some old and moving story 
of love and pity— or letting his thoughts wander with devout 

H H 2 



468 



T J 10 mas Hood, 



gratitude o\ er the beauties of creation, or in sympathy with the 
fading glories of old traditions. — Edifiburgh Rrc'ieiu, 1846. 

Hood's words don't act. He sets out on a pilgrimage in 
pursuit of puns. He is an inquisitor upon the King's 
English, and has tortured every word in the language till it 
confessed a double meaning. His drollery is addressed to the 
eye rather than to the ear. He is pleasant in print. Peake is 
a punster to hear, Hood to read. — C. Mathcu^^s^ ^'Records of 
a Static Vctera?i'' 

He is the finest English poet between the generation of 
Shelley and the generation of Tennyson. — W. M. Rossdti. 

If Hood does not rank in the first class among recent English 
poets, after \\'ordsworth and Keats, in virtue of these poems of 
metrical narrative and sensuous fancy, he attains a greater 
height, and strikes with a stronger emphasis, in another class 
of serious poems — those which consist in the vivid imagination, 
and abrupt lyric representation, of ghastly situations in physical 
nature and in human life. His ''Dream of Eugene Aram," 
his " Haunted House," his '* Eorge," and his " Last Man," are 
well-known cxami)les. There was, indeed, in Hood's genius a 
certain fliscination for the ghastly, a certain familiarity of the 
fancy with ideas and objects usually kept out of mind as too 
horrible and too disagreeable. Toying with his pencil, he 
would sketch skulls, or coftins, or grinning skeletons, in antic 
mimicry of the attitudes of life. One of the most painful of 
the illustrations which accompany these Memorials is a 
sketch of himself lying in his shroud as a corpse, which he 
made while in bed during his last illness. Something of this 
fascination for the ghastly, this tendency to imagine horrible 
objects and situations, runs through Hood's comic writings, 
sometimes appearing distinctly, but in other places only 
obliging humour and frolic by a kind of reaction. The 
hyena," he says himself, "is notoriously a frequenter of graves, 
a prowler among tombs ; he is also the only beast that laughs, 
at least above his breath." Omitting the moral dislike implied 
in the image chosen. Hood meant its intellectual import to be 
taken. From thoughts of death and graveclothes, of murders, 
of suicides, of gibbets on sohtary moors, of suggestions of the 
fiend in gloomy rooms to men on the verge of madness — from 
a dark circumference of such thoughts, conceived with an 
almost reckless literality, we see the Humorist rebounding into 
the thick and bustle of ordinary social life, rioting in its infinite 



Thomas Hood — Lord Macaulay, 469 



provocations to mirth, raising smiles and laughter wherever he 
goes, and turning speech into a crackle oi David Masson, 

Lord Macaulay, 
1800-1859, 

My confession of faith is very simple and explicit, and is at 
the service of anybody who asks for it. I do not agree with the 
High Churchmen in thinking that the State is always bound 
to teach religious faith to the people. I do not agree with the 
Voluntaries in thinking that it is always wrong in a State to 
support a religious establishment. I think the question a ques- 
tion of expediency, to be decided on a comparison of good and 
evil effects. I do not think it necessary to inquire whether, if 
there were no established kirk in Scotland, it would be fit to set 
one up. I find a kirk estabUshed. I am not prepared to pull 
it down : I will leave it what it has, but I will arm it with no 
new powers. I will impose no new burdens on the people for 
its support. I will make no distinction as to civil matters between 
the Churchman and the Dissenter. There are some questions 
which relate purely to the internal constitution of the church. 
Those questions ought, in my opinion, to be decided with a view 
to the efficiency and respectability of the church. — Macaulay, 

I never, directly or indirectly, solicited the honour which has 
been conferred on m.e. The letter in which Palmerston in- 
formed me he had received the Queen's permission to offer 
me a peerage took me altogether by surprise. — Ibid, 

It is impossible not to entertain a high respect for Mr. 
Macaulay's talents, but their display has on many occasions 
been attended with evidences of a want of what we will ven- 
ture to call logical honesty. A certain trickiness pervades his 
reasonings. His favourite mode of argument is to lay down 
some acknov/ledged truism — surrounding it with a profusion 
of illustrations and a copious variety of research, under which 
he insinuates fallacies unworthy of a schoolboy. He takes 
commonplace for his premises, and paradox for his conclu- 
sions j and the richness of a fertile memory conceals the 
meagreness of a most defective logic. — Exafuiner. 
: The Macaulay-flowers of Hterature.— C^. W. Holmes} 



1 Mr. Russell Lowell has well described Holmes, the greatest wit that 
America has yet produced, and a poet inferior to none, in a single distich :— 



4/0 



Lord Macau /ay. 



Posterity is not likely to deal leniently with the works of 
Lord Macaulay. It has already made him a classic; and has 
already inflicted the penalties which writers, whose composi- 
tions are made classic, have to endure. Specimens of his style 
are dictated as tests of orthography in our schools and the 
Civil Service ; and works which might invite the youthful 
reader, by the delicacy of their diction and the interest of their 
narrative, are rendered disgusting as obstacles in the way of 
preferment. — Afion. 

The prose of Mr. Macaulay is the prose of the rhetorician, 
and his poetry differs only from his prose in being more con- 
densed and more decorated.— C/////v// of England Q. 2{rcieu\ 

Give Lord Macaulay a hint, a fancy, an insulated fact or 
phrase, a scrap of a journal or the tag end of a song, and on 
it, by the abused prerogative of genius, he would construct a 
theory of national or personal character, which should confer 
undying glory, or inflict indelible disgrace.— y7. IJayward. 

A man of world-wide renown— the spirited poet, the splendid 
orator, the brilliant historian, the delightful essayist— in a word, 
Thomas Babington Macaulay, now, I suppose, incontestibly 
our greatest living writer.— J/. R. Mitford, 

I always prophesied his greatness from the first moment I 
saw him, then a very young and unknown man, on the Northern 
Circuit. There are no limits to h.. i.i.owledge, oil small sub- 
jects as well as great ; he is like a book in breeches I 

believe ^Licaulay to be incorruptible. You might lay ribbons, 
stars, garters, wealth, titles, before him in vain. He has an 
honest, genuine love for his country, and the world could not 
bribe him to neglect her interests. — Sydney Smith. 

Mr. Macaulay has some qualities which might render 
sophistry too popular, and error too attractive. He has a 
singular felicity of style ; and as he moves along his path of 
narrative, spreads a halo around him which beguiles the dis- 
tance and dazzles his companions. It is a style undoubtedly 
which might often provoke criticism, so far as artistic rules are 
concerned ; sometimes elaborated to excess, sometimes too 
familiar ; with sentences too curiously balanced, and un- 
necessary antitheses to express very simple propositions. But 
with all this, and much more of the same kind that might be 



A Leyden-jar always full-charged, from which flit 
The electrical tingles of hit after hit." — Ed. 



Lord Macau lay. 



4;i 



said, the fascination remains. The tale, as we proceed, flows 
on faster and faster. Page after page vanishes under the en- 
tranced eye of the reader ; and whether we will or no, we are 
forced to follow as he leads — so light, and gay, and agree- 
able does the pathway appear. Even on the most beaten ground 
his power of picturesque description brings out lights and 
shadows — views alike of distances and roadside flowers — 
never seen or remarked or recollected before. — Ediiiburgh 
Rei)iew^ 1849. 

There was a remarkable harmony in the mind and purposes 
of Lord Macaulay. As statesman, critic, poet, historian, he ex- 
hibited the same character ; he was working for the same ends. 
He could estimate with great sagacity, and state with ex- 
quisite clearness and force, what those changes in the govern- 
ment of the country are which the popular feeling demands, 
and which cannot be denied. He could joyfully acknowledge 
the value of reforms which the toils and the unpopularity of pre- 
vious thinkers and doers had made inevitable. He could give 
us the most satisfactory arguments for believing that our time 
was better and happier than any that had preceded it. He 
could convince us to our great comfort, as no one else could, 
what sound standards for measuring events and characters we 
have attained. He could imitate in stirring and admirable 
verses those songs which had expressed the beliefs ajid feelings 
of a previous generation.^ — Rev, F, D. Man?ice. 



^ In 1 8 14 Hannah i^.iore vv'rote a leiter to Zachary Macaulay about his 
son, Thomas Babington. The boy was then fourteen. ''The quantity of 
reading," she says, " that Tom has poured in, and the quantity of writing 
he has poured out, is astonishing. It is in vain I have tried to make him 
subscribe to Sir Harry Savile's notion, that the poets are the best writers 
next to those who write prose. We have poetry for breakfast, dinner, and 
supper. I sometimes fancy," she goes on, " I observe a daily progress in 
the growth of his mental powers. His fine promise of mind expands more 
and more ; and what is extraordinary, he has as much accuracy in his 
expression as spirit and vivacity in his imagination. I like, too, that he 
takes a lively interest in all passing events, and that the child is still pre- 
served ; I like to see him as boyish as he is studious, and that he is as much 

amused with making a pat of butter as a poem He has very quick 

perceptions of the beautiful and the defective in composition The 

other day, talking of what were the symptoms of a gentleman, he said, 
with some humour, and much good humour, that he had certain infallible 
marks of one, which were neatness, love of cleanliness and delicacy in his 
person." 



4/2 Lord Macaulay—Lctitia Elizabeth Landon, 



Mr. Macaulay possesses great talents and extraordinary ac- 
quirements. He unites powers and has achieved successes 
not only various, but difterent in their character, and seldom 
indeed conjoined in one individual. He was, while in Parlia- 
ment, though not quite an orator, and still less a debater, the 
most brilliant rhetorician of the House. His Roman ballads 
exhibit a novel idea worked out with a rare felicity, so as to 
combine the spirit of the ancient minstrels with the regularity 
of construction and sweetness of versification which modern 
taste requires ; and his critical Essays exhibit a wide variety 
of knowledge with a great fertility of illustration, and enough 
of the salt of ])leasantry and sarcasm to flavour and, in some 
degree, disguise a somewhat declamatory and pretentious 
dogmatism. It may seem too epigrammatic, but it is, in our 
serious judgment, strictly true to say that his History seems to 
be a kind of combination and exaggeration of the peculiarities 
of all his former efforts.— (2//(7/'/r;-/)' Rt-'icK', 1849. 



Lctitia J^lizabcth Landon. 

She was at this time from eighteen to twenty-two or three, 
a comely girl, with a blooming complexion, small, with very 
beautiful deep grey eyes, with dark eyelashes ; her hair, never 
very thick, was of deep brown, and fine as silk ; her forehead 
and eyebrows were perfect ; the one white and clear, the other 
arched and well-defined. She was inclined rather to be fat — 
too healthy looking ; and then her other features were defective ; 
her nose was retrousse. Her mouth, however, without being 
particularly good, was expressive and proportioned to her small 
and delicate face. Her hands and feet were perfect ; and in 
time her figure, which had a girlish redundance of form in it, 
became slighter, and ended by being neat and easy, if not strictly 
graceful. She had a charming voice ; and one could not but 
wonder that with that, and with so much soul, she did not sing 
— as a sort of necessity of her nature. Few persons have had 
their songs set so often to music ; and few persons wrote songs 
so adapted to society, and to the graceful performance of ama- 
teurs, as she did. Her "I know not when I loved thee 
first," and her ^* Constance," have been set by clever composers, 



Letiiia Elizabeth Landon. 



All 



and are deservedly popular. Her verses have always been 
liked by composers/— (^r^z^;^ Wharton, 

None of the laborious tribe of authors ever toiled more in- 
cessantly or more cheerfully than Miss Landon— none with a 
more devotedly generous spirit. She had the proud satisfac- 
tion of contributing to the support of her family, and to the 
last minute of her life this great object was uppermost in her 

mind It has been said that the same generous and disinte= 

rested spirit actuated her in her literary character ; and that in 
the many opportunities which she possessed of giving an opinion 
from the press on the works of contemporaries, she displayed 
not only a fair, but a magnanimous disposition. I regret to 
say that from documents — manuscripts of her own — which 
chanced to fail into my hands, I cannot by any means fully 
subscribe to this opinion. But no mortal is perfect ; and let 
these exceptions to the generally amiable spirit of a high-hearted 
and gifted woman sleep with her in the grave.— W. Hoimtt, 

Her easy carriage and careless movements would seem to 
imply an insensibility to the feminine passion of dress ; yet she 
had a proper sense of it, and never disdained the foreign aid of 
ornament, always provided it was simple, quiet, and becoming. 
Her hair was darkly brown, very soft and beautiful, and always 
tastefully arranged; her figure slight, but well-formed and 
graceful ; her feet small, but her hands especially so, and 
faultlessly white and finely shaped ; her fingers were fairy 
fingers ; her ears also were observably little. Her face, though 
not regular in any feature, became beautiful by expression; 
every flash of thought, every change and colour of feeling, 
lightened over it as she spoke, when she spoke earnestly. 
The forehead was not high, but broad and full ; the eyes had 
no overpowering brilliancy, but their clear intellectual light 
penetrated by its exquisite softness ; her mouth was not less 
marked by character; and besides the glorious faculty of 
uttering the pearls and diamonds of fancy and wit, knew how 
to express scorn, or anger, or pride, as well as it knew how to 
smile winningly, or to pour forth those quick, ringing laughs 
which, not even excepting her bons-7nots and aphorisms, were 
the most delightful things that issued from \t,~Laman 
Blanchard, 



1 Which, to judge from the sort of poetry that has usually received the 
preference of composers, will be hardly esteemed a compliment.— Ed, 



474 



Letitia Elizabctli L an don. 



The popularity of :\Iiss Landon suffered no abatement by 
the frequency of her appearance before the pubHc. It appeared 
rather to augment than decHne in the latest year of her literary 
career in London. And this is the more surprising as no 
extensive poem approaching to an epic character, nor detached 
pieces of hers of any sort of considerable length, have appeared. 
Sdll she had the power of seizing hold of the public esteem; 
an affectionate interest was felt in her ; her very name inspired 
kindly feelings and expectations of meeting amiable sentiments 
associated with beautiful imagery in her productions. — Dr. 
Maddai. 

Sappho of a polish'd age, g 
Loves and graces sweetly sing, " 

Chasten'd splendours o'er thy page, 
Like moonlight on a fairy's wing. 

Feelings soft as morning's dews, 

Breathings gentle as the May's, 
Verses soft as violet's hues 

Once sported in tliy hajjpy days. 

J. S. Hcraud. 

Spring shall return to that beloved shore, 

With healtli of leaves, and buds, and wild wood songs, 

But hers, the sweetest, with its tearful lore. 

Its womanly fond gushes come no more, 
Breathing the cadenced poetry that throngs 
To pure and fervid lips unstained by cares and wrongs. 

W, S. La n dor. 

L. E. L. has too little variety for me ; everything is so impas- 
sioned ; I wish she would mix a little sage with her myrtle 
garland. — Mrs. Grant's Letters T 

There is a passionate purity in all her feelings that endears to 
me both her human and her poetical character. She is a true 
enthusiast. Her affections overflow the imagery her fancy 
lavishes on all the subjects of her song, and colour it all with 
a rich and tender light, which makes even confusion beautiful, 
gives a glowing charm even to indistinct conception, and when 
the thoughts themselves are full formed and substantial, 
which they often are, brings them prominently out upon the i 
eye of the soul in flashes that startle us into sudden admiration. | 
The originality of her genius methinks is conspicuous in the j 
choice of its subjects — they are unborrowed; and in her least : 



Letitia Elizabeth Landon— Harriet MartineaiL 475 



successful poems— as wholes— there is no dearth of poetry.— 
Wilson^ '''' Nodes Ambrosiance,''' 

Harriet Martineau. 

1802, 

She is a great and good woman ; of course not without 
peculiarities, but I have seen none as yet that annoy me. She 
is both hard and warm-hearted, abrupt and affectionate, liberal 
and despotic. I believe she is not at all conscious of her own 
absolutism. When I tell her of it she denies the charge warmly, 
then I laugh at her. I beheve she almost rules Ambleside. 
Some of the gentry dislike her ; but the lower orders have a 
great regard for her. — Charlotte Bronte, 

Woman : " And we have got another writer-lady down at 
Ambleside." Howitt : A poet?" Woman : " Nay, nothing 
of the sort ; another guess sort of person, I can tell you," 
Howitt: "Why, who is that?" Woman: "V/ho is that? 
why. Miss Martineau, they call her. They tell me she wrote 
up the Reform Bill for Lord Brougham : and that she's come 
from the Lambtons here j and that she's v/riting nov/ about 
the taxes. Can she stop the steam, eh? can she, think you? 
Nay, nay, I warrant, big and strong as she is. Ha ! ha ! good 
lauk ! as I met her the other day walking along the muddy 
road below here — Is it a woman or a man, or what sort of an 
animal is it ? said I to myself There she came, stride, stride — 
great heavy shoes, stout leather leggings on, and a knapsack 
on her back ! Ha ! ha ! that's a potitical co??izcalist, they say ; 
what's that ? Do they mean that they can stop steam ? But 
I said to my husband : Goodness, but that would have been a 
wife for you ! Why, she'd ha' ploughed ! and they say she mows 
her own grass, and digs her own cabbages and potatoes !"— 
Howitfs " Homes and Haimts of the Foets'' 

Ralph Waldo Emerson, 
1803, 

Emerson has a distinct smack of the rich and sunny west ; 
just as the honey in Madeira tastes of violets. — yames Hannay. 
Emerson's writing has a cold cheerless glitter, hke the new 



476 Ralph Waldo Evicrson — Nathaniel Haivthornc. 



furniture in a warehouse which will come of use by-and-bye. — 
A Icxafidcr Sm ilh . 

His is, we may say, 
A Greek head on right Yankee shoulders, whose range 
Has Olpnpus for one pole, for t'other th' Exchange. 
Tis refreshing to old-fashioned people like me 
To meet such a primitive pagan as he. 
In whose mind all creation is duly respected 
As parts of himself--just a little projected. — Lowell. 

A writer distinguished for his genius, cultivated mind, and 
elegant diction. He can hardly be ranked as a systematic 
philoso])her, but belongs more correctly to the class of philo- 
sophical essayists, such as Montaigne. His metaphysical views, 
as expressed in the " Essay on the Over-sou/'' seem strongly 
coloured with idealistic^ Pantheism. — jf. A\ Morcll. 



NcUhanicl Hawthorne. 
1 804-1 864. 

When Nature was shaping him, clay was not granted, 

For making so full a sized man as she wanted, 

So to fill out her model a little she spared 

From some finer-grained stuff for a woman prepared. 

And she could not have hit a more excellent plan 

For making him fully and perfectly man. — Loj^'clL 

Mr. Hawthorne's personality is peculiar, and specially peculiar 
in a country like America. He is quiet, fanciful, quaint, and 
his humour is shaded by a certain meditativeness of spirit. 
Although a Yankee, he partakes of none of the characteristics 
of a Yankee. His thinking and his style have an antique air. 
His roots strike down through the visible mould of the present, 
and draw sustenance from the generations under ground. The 
ghosts that haunt the chamber of his mind are the ghosts of 
dead men and women. He has a strong smack of the Puritan ; 
he wears around him, in the New England town, something 
of the darkness and myster>^ of the aboriginal forest.— 
Smith, 

I Avas extremely gratitied with the sight of Mr. Hawthorne, 
his Scarlet Letter" having given me a desire to know a man so 



Nathaniel Hawthorne — Benjamin Disraeli. 477 



full of thought and feeling and fine purpose. His few words 
do not hinder his countenance from being one of the most 
speaking I ever met with. — Leigh Hmt. 

Benjamin Disraeli. 

1805. I 

In his manners Disraeli the younger is quite his own 
character of "Vivian Grey," full of genius and eloquence, with 
extreme good nature, and a perfect frankness of character. — - 
Lady Blessingto?i. 

Disraeli has one of the most remarkable faces I ever saw. 
He is lividly pale, and, but for the energy of his actions and 
the strength of his lungs, would seem a victim to consumption. 
His eye is black as Erebus, and has the most mocking and 

lying-in-wait sort of expression conceivable His hair is 

as extraordinary as his taste in waistcoats. A thick, heavy 
mass of jet black ringlets falls over his left cheek almost to his 
collarless coat ; while on the right it is parted and put away 
with the smooth carefulness of a girl's, and shines most 
unctuously 

" With thy incomparable oil, Macassar ! " 

Disraeli was the only one at table who knew Beckford, and 
the style in which he gave a sketch of his habits and manners 
was worthy of himself I might as well attempt to gather up 
the foam of the sea as to convey an idea of the extraordinary 
language in which he clothed his description. There were at 
least five words in every sentence that must have been very much 
astonished at the use they were put to, and yet no others, appa- 
rently, could so well have conveyed his idea. He talked like a 
racehorse approaching the winning-post, every muscle in action, 
and the utmost energy of expression flung out in every burst. 
.... No mystic priest of the corybantes could have worked 
himself up into a finer frenzy of language. — N. P, Willis, 

We doubt whether, even with all proper appliances, Mr. 
Disraeli could produce a really good work of fiction. He 
seems to us to want some of the most essential elements of a 
great noveHst. The calm^ the natural, the simply grand, are 
not his field ; the startling and improbable, both in character 
and incident, have a dangerous charm for him; he moves 



478 



Bcnjamm Disraeli, 



forward, not with steady progression, but in hurried bursts, with 
strange, impassioned movements ; he does not possess, but is 
possessed by, his imagination ; excited himself, he involves the 
reader in the same atmosphere of turbulence — hurries him for- 
ward without repose, and leaves him often at the end of some of 
his most striking scenes with the feeling of exhaustion. There 
is also a want of directness and reality about his passion : if he 
feels strongly, he has not the power of communicating a cor- 
responding feeling to his readers ; we perceive rather the 
reflection or shadow of feeling than the thing itself, and even 
after his most laboured passages, can at the utmost go no 
farther than Othello's exclamation, '*(), wcll-jjainted passion I" 
— ELruibur^h RtTiai^ 1837. 

I am so jjleased to see his progress in the House, luhicJi I 
alone predicted the Jii^ht of his first failure? — Lord Lytton to Lady 
Blessington. 

Many years ago (upwards of twenty) I frequently met Mr. 
Disraeli at Lady Pjlessington's, in Seamore Place. It required 
no ghost from the grave, or rai)ping spirit from the invisible 
world, to predicate, even then, the success of the young Disraeli 
in public life. I'hough in general society he was habitually 
silent and reserved, he was closely observant. It required 
generally a subject of more than common interest to produce 
the fitting degree of enthusiasm to animate him and to stimulate 
him into the exercise of his marvellous powers of conversation. 
When duly excited, however, his command of language was 
truly wonderful, his power of sarcasm unsurpassed ; the readi- 
ness of his wit, the quickness of his perception, the grasp of 
mind that enabled him to seize on all the parts of any subject 
under discussion, those only would venture to call in question 
who had never been in his company at the period I refer to. — 
Dr. Madden, 1855. 

Like Sir Robert Peel he appears to isolate himself — to have 
no associates in the House, except those forced upon him by 
the immediate necessines of party. This isolation and self- 
absorption are equally conspicuous whether he is quiescent or 
in activity. Observe him anywhere about the House, in the 
lobbies or in the committee-rooms, you never see him in con- 
fidential communication with any one. — Francis^ 1852. 



^ The italics are Lord Lytton's. — Ed. 



Benjamin Disraeli-— Lord Lytton, a^jc^ 



He is entirely original. We are never reminded of any one 
else ; we never half close the book, saying, " Surely we have 
read this before." No, we are startled, surprised, and always 
carried on to the last. In any other age than the present, or 
even now, Mr. Disraeli would have been a poet. He has 
essentially the poetic temperament, the intense self-conscious- 
ness, the impetuosity, and the eye for the beautiful. — Theodore 
Hook^ 1837. 

Lord Lytton. 
1806. 

At the head of British novelists or thereabouts most persons 
would place the ex-member for Lincoln — a gentleman who 
received a baronetcy from the same' hands which presented 
Robert Owen to the Queen. We plead guilty to having read 
several of this gentleman's works, which seem expressly written 
to show that a man may commit crimes of the deepest dye 
without being a whit the less amiable, high-minded, or even 

virtuous We do not know what were the services for 

which Sir E. L. Bulwer was made a baronet, unless it was for 
writing these novels. The fact that such writing should be a 
path to political influence and social distinction is not the least 
among the symptoms of that evil which we wish to expose.— 
" Tiniest 

You bandbox ! — Tennyson, 

Mr. Bulwer's earlier works made their appearance during the 
height of the epidemic of fashionable novel-writing — a brief, 
but remarkable phasis in our hterary history. In France, where 
society, broken up by the Revolution and the subsequent 
changes, has never fully resumed its former distinctions, and 
where the passive aristocracy of rank is on all hands crossed 
and amalgamated with the more active aristocracy of talent, 
the life of the upper, as separate or distinct from that of the 
middle class of society, presents no peculiarities sufficiently 
marked for the purposes of the novelist. But in England, 
where each class stands out in strong rehef upon the map of 
society; where long usage has stamped them with peculiar 
modes and habits, both of thought and action ; and where, at 
the same time, the separation has never been so absolute or 
exclusive but that talent and enterprise may make their way 



480 



Lord Lytton, 



from the lowest into the highest sphere ; there naturally existed 
a sufficiently strong and general interest in the manners, sayings, 
and doings of the higher ranks, to afford promise of grateful 
notice to any one who could present the public, from personal 
observation, wdth some sketches of the El Dorado of fashion — 
of that attractive region into which so many of the middle 
classes are always struggling or hoping at some time or other 
to enter. It was no wonder then, that some of our novelists 
should seek for the materials of fiction in this inviting field ; 
or that the first apocalypses from the upper world should have 
been received with such curiosity and deference. The very air 
of exclusion which characterized the views of society exhibited 
by this class of writers, had in it something exciting. All their 
novels seemed \sTitten to ilhistrate the moral lesson of Touch- 
stone to the Sliei)]ierd : Shepherd, wert ever at Court?" 

No." llK-n iliou art damned." The public at first received 
the oracle with all humihty. At most they ventured, like the 
Shepherd, to utter a " Xa\-, I hope;" and then applied them- 
selves assiduously to the perusal of these revelations from this 
high quarter, to see if i)eradventure their doom might be 
averted. — Edi?duir^:^h Rri iau, 1832. 

Towards twelve o'clock Mr. I.ytton Bulwer was announced, 
and enter the author of ''Pelham." I had made up my mind 
how he should look, and between prints and descriptions thought 
I could scarcely be mistaken in my idea of his person. No 
two tilings could be more unlike, however, than the ideal of Mr. 
Bulwer in my mind, and the real Mr. Bulwer who followed the 
announcement. I liked his manners extremely. He ran up 
to Lady Blessington, with the joyous heartiness of a boy let 
out of school ; and the How d'ye, Bulwer?" went round as he 
shook hands with everybody in the style of w^elcome usually 
given to " the best fellow in the world." .... Bulwer's head 
is phrenologically a fine one. His forehead retreats very much, 
but is very broad and well-marked, and the whole air is that of 
decided mental superiority. His nose is aquiline. His com- 
plexion is fair, his hair profuse, curly, and of light auburn. A 
more good-natured, habitually smiling expression could hardly 

be imagined I can imagine no style of conversation 

calculated to be more agreeable than Buhver's. Gay, quick, 
various, half-satirical, and always fresh and different from ever}'- 

body else Buhver's voice, like his brother's, is exceedingly 

lover-like and s\veet. — N. P, Willis, 



Lord Lytton — Henry W adsw or th Longfellow. 481 

He is envied and abused,— for nothing, I believe, except for 
the superiority of his genius, and the brilliant literary success 
it commands ; and knowing this, he chooses to assume a pride 
which is only the armour of a sensitive mind afraid of a wound. 
He is to his friends the most frank and noble creature in the 
world, and open to boyishness with those whom he thinks 
understand and value him. — Lady Blessmgton. 

Bulwer worked his way to eminence — worked it through 
failure, through ridicule. His facility is only the result of 
practice and study. He wrote at first very slowly and with 
great difficulty ; but he resolved to master the stubborn in- 
strument of thought, and mastered it. He has practised 
writing as an art, and has re-written some of his essays un- 
pubhshed, nine or ten times over. Another habit will show the 
advantage of continuous application. He only wTites about three 
hours a day, from ten in the morning till one — seldom later. 
The evenings, when alone, are devoted to reading, scarcely ever 

to writing He writes very rapidly, averaging twenty 

pages a day of novel print. — Be?itleys Miscellany. 

One of the most characteristic features of Bulwer's writings 
is the singular combination of worldly experience— a perfect 
knowledge of life, and especially of life in the upper circles of 
society, a thorough acquaintance with its selfishness and specious 
fallacies— with the vast amount of prose poetry that prevails in 
his prose writings. — Dr. Madden. 

His poetry spoils his prose ; and his prose spoils his poetry, 
— Anon. 

Henry Wads worth Longfellow. 

1807, 

A man of true genius. — Edgar A. Foe. 

Longfellow, in the "Golden Legend," has entered more closely 
into the temper of the monk, for good and for evil, than ever yet 
theological writer or . historian, though they may have given 
their life's labour to the analysis. — Ruskin. 

A man's heart beats in his every \mt.~George Gilfillan, 
Of all our poets, Longfellow best deserves the title of artist. 
He has studied the principles of verbal melody, and rendered 
himself master of the mysterious affinities which exist between 
sound and sense, word and thought, feeling and expression. 
I 1 1 



4^2 Ilciiry Wadsu^Oi'th LougfcUoxv— Nathaniel P, Willis, 



This tact in the use of langaaG;e is probably the chief cause of 
his success. — Grisu^ohL 

Our hemisphere cannot claim the honour of having brought 
him forth ; but still he belongs to us, for his works have become 
as household words wherever the language is spoken. And 
whether we are charmed by his imagery, or soothed by his 
melodious versification, or elevated in the high moral teachings 
of his pure muse, or follow with sympathetic hearts the 
wanderings of Evangeline, I am sure that all who hear my voice 
will join with me in the tribute I desire to pay to the genius of 
I^ongfellow. — Cardifhil 1 J 'iscnian, 

Nathaniel l\arker Willis. 
1S07-1867. 

Mr. AVillis was an extremely agreeable young man (1855) in 
society, somewhat over-dressed and a little dcmonstralif, but 
abounding in good spirits, pleasing reminiscences of Eastern 
and Continental tra\ elling, and of his residence there for some 
time as attacJic to a foreign legation. He was observant and 
communicative, lively and clever in conversation, having the 
peculiar art of making himself agreeable to ladies, old as well as 
young ; dc^::agcc in his manner, and on exceedingly good terms 
with himself and with the tide of the best society wherever he 
went. — Dr. Madden, 

There is \\'illis, so natty, and jaunty, and gay, 

Who says his best things in so foppish a way. 

With conceits and pet phrases so thickly overlaying 'em. 

That one hardly knows whether to thank him for saying 'em. 

Over ornament ruins both poetry and prose — 

Just conceive of a Muse with a ring in her nose ! 

His prose had a natural grace of its own. 

And enough of it too, if he'd let it alone ; 

But he twitches and jerks so, one fairly gets tired, ^ 

And is forced to forgive where he might have admired. 

Yet whenever it slips away free and unlaced, 

It runs like a stream with a musical waste, 

And gurgles along with the iiquidest sweep : 

Tis not deep as a river, but who'd have it deep ? . . . . 

He's so innate a cockney, that had he been born 

Where plain bare skin's the only full dress that is v/orn. 



L Nathaniel P. W illis—Elizaheth Barrett Browning, 48 3 



He'd have given his own such an air, that you'd say 
'T had been made by a tailor to lounge in Broadway ; 
His nature's a glass of champagne with the foam on't. 
As tender as Fletcher, as witty as Beaumont; 
So his best things are done in the flush of the moment 
If he wait, all is gone ; he may stir it, and shake it, 
But the fixed air once gone, he can never remake it. 
He might be a marvel of easy delightfulness, 
If he would not sometimes leave the r out of sprightfulness, 

J. Loiuell: 

Mr. Willis deals with the ornamental rather than the useful. 
He attends to that which attracts the senses, rather than 
to that which should occupy the mind. He is not a man of 
cultivated taste ; but neither is he a man of science, an antiquary, 
a naturalist, a pohticai economist; or a politician. — Edijibtirgh 
Review, 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

1809-1861, 

We consider Miss Barrett to be a woman of undoubted 
genius and m.ost unusual learning ; but that she has indulged 
her inclination for themes of sublime mystery, not, certainly, 
without displaying great power, yet at the expense of that 
clearness, truth, and proportion which are essential to beauty, 
and has most unfortunately fallen into the trammels of a school 
or manner of writing which of all that ever existed — Lycophron, 
Lucan, and Gongora, not forgotten — is the most open to the 
charge of being vitiis ijiiitabile exemplar. — Quarterly Review. 

.... Miss Barrett, whose poetical and critical writings have 
displayed not only considerable taste, beauty, and feeling, but 
whose variety and depth of erudition might seem to recal the 
days when fair pupils studied Plato with Roger Ascham.— 
Church of England Quarterly Review. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning is too dear to me as a friend to 
be spoken of merely as a poetess. Indeed, such is the influence 
of her manners, her conversation, her temper, her thousand 
sweet and attaching qualities, that they who knew her best are 
apt to lose sight altogether of her learning and of her genius, and 
jto think of her only as the most charming person that they 
have ever met. But she is known to so few, and the peculiar 
I 112 



484 Eli-ahttli Barrett Browning — O. W, Holmes. 



characteristics of her writings, their purity, their tenderness, 
their piety, and their intense feehng of humanity and of woman- 
hood have won for her the love of so many — M. R. 

Mitford. 



Dr. Hohnes is a i)Oct of w it and liumour and genial senti- 
ment, with a st}le remarkable for its purity, terseness, and 
point, and for an exquisite fmish and grace. His lyrics ring 
and sparkle Hke cataracts of silver, and his serious pieces — as 
successful in their way as those mirthful frolics of his muse for 
which he is best known — arrest the attention by touches of the 
most genuine pathos and tenderness. — Griswold. 

Many of his pleasant lyrics seem not so much the object of 
wit as of fancy and scntinu-nt turned in a humorous direction. 
— Whipple. 

Long may he li\ e to make broader the face of our care- 
ridden generation, and to realize for himself the truth of the 
wise man's declaration, that a merry heart is a continual feast. — 
Whitticr. 

For him we can find no living prototype ; to track his footsteps 

we must travel back as far as Pope or Dryden Lofty, 

pregnant, graceful, grand, high of thought and clear of word, we 
could fancy ourselves reading some pungent page of " Absalom 
and Achitophel." .... He excels in singing his own charming 
songs, and speaks as well as he \\Tites. — M. R. Mitford, 



Miss Alfred. — Lord Lytton. 

Out of an age so diversified and as yet so unshapely, he who 
draws forth any graceful and expressive forms is w^ell entitled to 
high praise. Turning into fixed beauty any part of the shifdng 
and mingled matter of our time, he does what in itself is very 
difficult, and aftbrds very valuable help to all future labourers. 
If he has not given us back our age as a whole transmuted into 
crj^stalline clearness and lustre — a work accomplished by a few 



O. \V. Holmes. 



1 809. 



Alfred Tennyson. 



1 809. 




Alfred Tennyson, 



485 



only of the greatest minds under the happiest circumstances for 
their art — yet we scarce know to w^hom we should be equally 
grateful as to him who has enriched us with many shapes of 
lasting loveliness ^Svon from the vague and formless infinite," 
Mr. Tennyson has done more of this kind than almost any one 
that has appeared amongst us during the last twenty years. 
And in such a task of alchemy a really successful experiment, 
even on a small scale, is of great worth compared with the 
thousands of fruitless efforts or pretences on the largest plan, 
which are daily clamouring for all men's admiration of their 
nothingness. — Quarterly Review, 1843. 

Tennyson cannot fail to be admired j but his admirers have 
confounded overcarefulness with perfection, and nave assigned 
him a rank among our greatest poets which we are convinced 
he will not permanently retain.— /^/^. 1868. 

I have read Tennyson's " In Memoriam," or rather part of 
itj I closed the book when I had got about halfway. It is 
beautiful ; it is mournful ; it is monotonous. Many of the feel- 
ings expressed bear in their utterance the stamp of truth ; yet if 
Arthur Hallam had been somewhat nearer Alfred Tennyson— 
his brother instead of his friend — I should have distrusted this 
rhymed and measured and printed monument of grief What 
change the lapse of years may work I do not know ; but it 
seems to me that bitter sorrow, while recent, does not flow out 
in verse !^ — Charlotte Bimit'e, 

He is indolent, over-refining, is in danger of neutralizing his 
earnestness altogether by the scepticism of thought, not too 
strong, but not strong enough to lead or combine, and he runs 
or rather reposes altogether upon feelings (not to speak it 
offensively) too sensual. His mind lives in an atmosphere 
heavy with perfumes. He grows lazy by the side of his Lin- 
colnshire water-lilies j and, with a genius of his o^m sufficient 
for original and enauring purposes (at least we hope so) subjects 
himself to the charge of helping it too much with the poets 
gone before him, from Homer to Wordsworth and to Shelley 
and Keats. — Church of England Quarterly Review, 

His ideality is both adornative and creative, although up to 
this period it is ostensibly rather the former than the latter. 
His ideal faculty is either satisfied with an exquisitely delicate 



Where there is leisure for fiction, there is little grief, —Johnson, 



486 



Alfred Tcujiyson. 



arabesque painting, or clears the ground before him, so as to 
melt and disperse all other objects into a suitable atmosphere 
or aerial perspective, while he takes horse in a passionate 
impulse, as in some of his ballads, which seem to have been 
painted through without a single pause. ^ — Home. 

Alfred Tennyson moves on his way through life heard, but 
by the public unseen. We might put to him a question similar 
to that which Wordsworth i)ut to the cuckoo ; and our question 

would have like answer Many an admiring man may 

have said with Solomon of old, " I have sought him, but I 
could not find him ; I called him, but he answered not." If 
you want a i)0pular poet, you know pretty well where to look 

for him But in few or none of these places will you 

find Alfred Tennyson. ^' He is gone down into his garden, to 
his beds of spices, to feed in his garden and gather lilies." 
You may hear his voice, but where is the man? He is wan- 
dering in some dreamland, beneath the shade of old and 
charmed forests, by fiir-off shores, where 

All night 

The plunging seas draw backward from the land 
Their moon-led waters white 

by the old mill-dam, thinking of the merry miller and his pretty 
daughter : or is wandering over the open wolds, where 

Norland whirlwinds blow." 

From all these places — from the silent corridor of an ancient 
convent : from some shrine where a devoted knight recites his 
vows ; from the drear monotony of the " moated grange," or the 
ferny forest, beneath the "talking oak" — comes the voice of 
Tennyson, rich, dreamy, passionate, yet not impatient ; musical 
with the airs of chivalrous ages, yet mingling in his songs the 
theme and the spirit of those that are yet to come. — W. Hounit. 
Mr. Tennyson's genius, so far as we can pretend to judge of 



1 It is Mr. Tennyson's fatality to find amongst his enthusiastic admirers 
writers whose criticisms are half meaningless. "Orion" and some other 
poems prove Mr. Home a man of talent ; yet I defy him with all his 
talent to understand at least two-thirds of the criticism on Tennyson from 
which the above is taken. '* The zeal of fools," says Pope, 

* ' Offends at any time, 
But most of all the zeal of fools in rh}Tne." — Ed. 



Alfred Tennyson. 



487 



what is so large and manifold, is, perhaps, on the whole, most 
strikingly characterized by that pecuHar species of versatility 
which, as we have already observed, is the application of the 
dramatic faculty to other subjects instead of the drama. All 
his important poems are complete embodiments, not merely 
illustrations of the subject treated. Each is evidently the result 
of long musings, meditative and imaginative ; and each repre- 
sents, in its mtegrity and distinctness, an entire system of 
thought, sentiment, manners, and imagery. Each is a window 
from which we have a vista of a new and distinct world. In 
each too, we come to know far more of the characters than is 
explicitly stated ; we know their past as well as their present, 
and speculate about their associates. How much, for instance, 
of our time and country do we find in ^'Locksley Hall," that 
admirable delineation of the modern Outlaw, the over-developed 
and undisciplined youth, the spoilt child, and castaway son of 
the nineteenth century ! How many tracts against asceticism 
are condensed in his "St. Simeon ! " Whether idylhc or philo- 
sophic in form, not a few of these poems are at heart dramas. 
If it were true, which we cannot believe, that the drama is 
amongst us but an anachronism, such poems would be perhaps 
the most appropriate substitute for it. They are remarkable also 
as works of art. Mr. Tennyson is a great artist ; nor would it 
have been possible without much study, as well as a singular 
plastic power, to have given his poems that perfection of shape 
which enables a slender mould to sustain a various interest— 
Edinburgh Review^ 

One of the saddest misfortunes that can befall a young poet, 
is to be the Pet of a Coterie ; and the very saddest of all, if in 
Cockneydom, Such 1ms been the unlucky lot of Alfred 
Tennyson. He has been elevated to the throne of Little 
Britain, and sonnets were showered over his coronation from 
the most remote regions of his empire, even from Hampstead 
Hill. Eulogies more elaborate than the architecture of the 
costHest gingerbread, have been built up into panegyrical piles 
in commemoration of the Birth-day ; and 'twould be a pity 
indeed with one's crutch to smash the gilt battlements, white 
too with sugar as with frost, and begemmed with comfits. The 
besetting sin of all periodical criticism, and nowadays there is 
no other, is boundless extravagance of praise ; but none splash 
it on like the trowel-men who have been bedaubing Mr. 
Tennyson, There is something wrong, however, with the 



488 Alfred Tennyson— W, J/. Thackeray. 

compost. It wont stick ; unseemly cracks deform the surface; 
it falls oft" piece by piece ere it 1ias dried in the sun, or it 
hardens into blotches ; and the worshippers have but dis- 
coloured and disfigured their idol. The worst of it is, that 
they make the Bespattered not only feel, but look ridiculous ; 
he seems as absurd as an image in a tea-garden; and, bedizened 
with flided and fantastic garlands, the public cough on being 
told he is a Poet, for he has much more the appearance of a 
Post. — BIack7>.hHhi^ s Magdzinc, 1832. 

Mr. Tennyson belongs decidedly to the class we have de- 
scribed as the poets of sensation. — Hallani. 

I have good hopes of Alfred Tennyson ; but the cockneys 
are doing what they may to si)oil him— and, if he sufters them 
to put their bird-lime on his feet, he will stick all the days of 
his life on hedge-rows or leap fluttering about the bushes. I 
should be sorry for it, for though his wings are far from being 
full-fledged, they promise now well in the pinions, and I should 
not be surj)rised to see him yet a sky-soarer. His Golden 
Days of Good Haroun Alraschid is extremely beautiful. 
There is feeling and fancy in his Oriana." He has a fine ear 
for melody and harmony too, and rare and rich glimpses of 
imagination. He \\d.<y~^cuius. Tickler : Affectations. C. 
North : I'oo man)-. But I admire Alfred, and hope — nay 
trust — that one day he will prove himself a poet. If he do 
not — then I am no i)rophet. — Xoctcs Afubrosianc^'' 

\\\ V^, Thackera}'. 
TS11-1863. 

Thackeray is a Titan of mind. His presence and powers 
impress one deeply in an intellectual sense. — Charlotte Bronte. 

There is a man in our own days whose words are not framed 
to tickle delicate ears ; who, to my thinking, comes before the 
great ones of society much as the son of Imlah came before 
the throned Kings of Judah and Israel, and who speaks truth 
as deep, with a power as prophet-like and vital — a mien as 
dauntless and as daring. — Ibid, 

Thackeray was without Scott's feudal sympathies, and had 
far less romance and historical feeling ; neither was his imagina- 
tion so various as Scott's — which created such diverse characters 
as Rebecca and Jeanie Deans — nor his vein of poetry so 



IV. M. T/iackeraf. 



489 



rich. In one point the late writer had an advantage : he wrote 
a better style. The prose of Scott is cumbrous and apt to be 
verbose ; whereas Thackeray's English is one of his greatest 
merits. It is pure, clear, simple in its power, and harmonious ; 
clean, sinewy, fine, and yet strong, like the legs of a racehorse. 
— y^ames Haiinay. 

He kept his Show-Box, with no Mirrors where 
You saw Eternity, whose worlds we pass 
Darkly by daylight, but with many a glass 

Reflecting all the humours of the Fair. 
The thousand shapes of vanity and sin ; 
Toy-stalls of Satan ; the mad masquerade ; 

The floating pleasures that before them played : 
The fooHsh faces following, all a-grin. 

He slily prick'd the bubbles that we blew. 

Anon. J in Good Words. 

He began his career as a painter, but soon abandoned that 
pursuit for literature. He illustrated some of his early w^orks. 
He has travelled much, and is a good linguist. Few persons 
who entertain the ordinary opinions that are held concerning 
humorists would imagine the sterling qualities of solid mirth 
and faithfulness in friendship that belong to Mr. Thackeray, 
With strangers reserved and uncommunicative, to those who 
know him he is open-hearted, kindly disposed, and generous. 
To great sensibility and an innate love of all that is good and 
noble, he unites sentiments of profound hate and contempt 
for falsehood, meanness, worldliness, and hypocrisy, and a rare 
power of satirizing it and exposing it.— Z^r. Madden^ 1855, 

He never exhausts, elaborates, or insists too much upon 
anything; he drops his finest remarks and happiest illustrations 
as Buckingham dropped his pearls, and leaves them to be 
picked up and appreciated as chance may bring a discrimi- 
nating observer to the spot. His effects are uniformly the 
effects of sound wholesome legitimate art ; and we need hardly 
add that we are never harrowed up with physical horrors of 
the Eugene Sue school in his writings, or that there are no 
melodramatic villains to be found in them. One touch of 
nature makes the whole world kin, and here are touches of 
^nature by the dozen. His pathos (though not so deep as Mr. 
'Dickens') is exquisite; the more so, perhaps, because he 
seems to struggle against it, and to be half ashamed of being 



490 



ff. M, Thackeray. 



caught in the niching mood ; but the attempt to be caustic, 
satirical, ironical, or philosophical, on such occasions, is 
uniformly vain; and again and again have we found reason 
to admire how an originally fine and kind nature remains 
essentially free from worldliness, and, in the highest pride 
of intellect, i)avs homa-^e to the heart. - FJ:nhui\h Rrcicw, 
1848. 

The only faculty with which he gifts in.^ ^uu i wumcn is a 
supreme faculty of tears. — Altw. Smith. 

. If, in the reckless vivacity of his youth, his satirical pen had 
ever gone astray or done amiss, he had caused it to prefer its 
own petition for forgiveness long before — 

I've writ the foolish fiincies of his brain ; 

The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain : 

The idle word that he'd wish back again." 

In no pages should I lake it upon myself at this time to dis- 
course of his books, of his refined knowledge of character, of 
his subtle acquaintance with the weaknesses of human nature, 
of his delightful playfulness as an essayist, of his quaint and" 
touching ballads, of his mastery over the English language : 
least of all in these pages, enriched by his brilliant qualities 
from the first of the series, and beforehand accepted by the 
public through tlie strength of his great name. — Charles 
Dickens. ^ 

The fine grey head, the dear face with its gentle smile, the 
sweet, manly voice whicli we knew so well, with its few words 
of kmdest greeting; the gait and manner and personal 
presence of him whom it so delighted us to encounter in our 
casual comings and goings about the town — it is of these things, 
and of these things lost for ever, that we are now thinking. 
We think of them as treasures which are not only lost, but 
which can never be replaced. He who knew Thackeray will 
have a vacancy in his heart's inmost casket, which must remain 
vacant till he dies. One loved him almost as one loves a 
woman, tenderly and with though tfulness — thinking of him 
when away from him as a source of joy that cannot be analyzed, 
but is full of comfort. — Anthony Trollope. 



^ In the Cornhill Magazine^ at ihe time of Mr. Thackeray's death.— 
Ed. 



49 1 



Edgar Allan Poe. 
1811-1849, 

With me poetry has been not a purpose but a passion. — Poe. 
A winning, sad-mannered gentleman. — N. P, WUlis, 
He is perfectly poetic in his own province. If his circle is 
a narrow, it is a magic one. His poetry is sheer poetry, and 
borrows nothing from without, as didactic poetry d^ot^— James 
Hannay. 

You want flowers and fruit for your altar ; and wherever 
Poe's music has passed, flowers and fruit are fairer and brighter. 
—Ibid. 

Three-hfths of him genius and two-fifths sheer fudge : 
Who talks like a book of iambs and pentameters, 
In a way to make people of common sense damn metres ; 
Who has written some things quite the best of their kind, 
But the heart somehow seems all squeezed out by the mind. 

LowelL 

He was a blackguard of undeniable mark. Yet his chance 
of success at the onset of life was great and manifold. Nature 
was bountiful to him, bestowing upon him a pleasing person 
and excellent talents. Fortune favoured him ; education and 
society expanded and polished his intellect, and improved his 
manner into an insinuating and almost irresistible address. 
Upon these foundations he took his stand, became early very 
popular among his associates, and might have erected a laud= 
able reputation had he possessed ordinary prudence. But he 
defied his good genius. There was a perpetual strife between 
him and virtue, in which virtue was never triumphant. His 
moral stamen was weak, and demanded resolute treatment ; 
but instead of seeking a bracing and healthy atmosphere, he 
preferred the impurer airs, and gave way readily to those low 
and vulgar appetites which infallibly relax and press down the 
victim to the lowest state of social abasement. — Edinburgh 
Revieiv^ 1S58. 

His was a shrewd and naturally unamiable character.— 
Griswold. 



492 



John Forster. 
1S12. 

I have made the ac([uaintance of Mr. Forster, and hke him 
exceedingly ; he is very clever, and, what is better, very noble- 
minded. —Lady Blcssinofofi. 

He is not general in his friendshijis, ljut I ha\ e known him, 
in cases where his aid has been re(iuired, display a zeal and 
energy rarely surpassed, or indeed equalled, more especially 
in cases of literary men or their families when in distress. — 

AflOfL 

Hie rarest and most adwantageous of all combinations — 
the union of common sense and great intellectual endowments 
-—constitutes the power and peculiarity of Mr. Forster's abilities 
alike in literature and journalism. One is reminded, by his 
lucid, plain, trenchant, and forcible style of writing, of Cobbett's 
best manner, with a large infusion into it of literary taste and 

scholarship A disciple of Lavater, or Gall and Spurz- 

heim, could not encounter Forster in any society, or position in 
it, without being struck with his api)earance — his broad and 
ample forehead, his massive features, his clear, intelligent eye, 
his firm, fixed, and solemn look, and expressiveness of lips, and 
other features. When we are ushered into the presence of 
Forster we feel at home in his company, and well assured of our 
safety in it. ^\'e find ourselves in the company of a man of 
high integrity and moral character — of an enlarged mind and 
of a generous nature. — Dr. MaiJilai, 1855. 

Charles Dickens. 
1S12-1870. 

Boz is the fictitious signature of a young man named 
Dickens, who was for some years engaged as a writer in one 
of the London newspapers, which he enlivened with his 
humorous and graphic sketches. We are not aware that he 
is a native of London, but he has at least, by his residence 
there, made himself minutely familiar with the peculiarities of 
the people, chiefly of the middle and lower ranks, which he 
has the knack of hitting off in a singularly droll and happy 



Charles Dickens. 



493 



manner. We have never visited London without noticing that 
it possessed a prodigious fund of character for description, and 
yet, since the time of Smollett, this inexhaustible fund has lain 
untouched. The most odd-looking and odd-speaking beings 
were suffered to vegetate unheeded, unchronicled, except when 
partially brought into notice by a foreigner— Washington Irving. 
Upon this mine of character and manners, Boz has successfully 
struck. He is now busy in the work of excavation. The 
chief talent of this clever writer consists in close perception, 
not only of character, but of every minute circumstance and 
local peculiarity. Nothing escapes his notice, or fails to be 
made the subject of humorous observation. — Chambe7's. 

The vulgarity of his attempts at the aristocracy — his lords 
and baronets — is woful. — Quarterly Review, 

We are inclined to predict of works of this style {i.e.^ the 
works of Dickens) both in England and France (where the 
manufacture is flourishing on a very extensive and somewhat 
profligate scale) that an ephemeral popularity will be followed 
by early oblivion. — Jbid. 

If Mr. Dickens's characters were gathered together, they 
would constitute a town populous enough to send a representa- 
live to Parliament. Let us enter. The style of architecture 
is unparalleled. There is an individuality about the buildings. 
In some obscure way they remind one of human faces. There 
are houses sly-looking, houses wicked-looking, houses pompous^ 
looking. Heaven bless us ! what a rakish pump ! What a 
self-important town hall ! What a hard-hearted prison ! The 
dead walls are covered with advertisements of Mr. Sleary's 
circus. Newman Noggs comes shambling along. Mr. and the 
Misses Pecksniff come sailing down the sunny side of the 
street. Miss Mercy's parasol is gay ; papa's neckcloth is white 
and terribly starched. Dick Swiveller leans against a wall, his 
hands in his pockets, a primrose held between his teeth, con= 
templating the opera of Punch and Judy, which is being con- 
ducted under the management of Messrs. CodHng and Short 
You turn a corner, and you meet the coffin of little Paul 
Dombey borne along. In the afternoon you hear the rich 
tones of the organ from Miss La Creevy's first floor, for Tom 
Pinch has gone to live there now ; and as you know all the 
people as you know your own brothers and sisters, and conse- 
quently require no letters of introduction, you go up and talk 
with the dear old fellow about all his friends and your friends, 



494 



Cliavles Dickens, 



and towards evening he takes your arm, and you walk out to 
see poor Nelly's gx-OiVt.— Alexander Smith. 

I am delighted to find how gloriously my friend Dickens has 
been received at P2dinburgh. But the Scotchmen could not 
avoid ill-placed criticisms and oblique comparisons. One block- 
head talked of his deficiency in the female character — the very 
thing in whicli he and Shakspeare most excel. — W, S, Landor, 
1841. 

When you write to Mr. Dickens, remember us most kindly 
to him. 1 have made many persons buy "The Chimes" who 
were afraid it was not amusing, and made them ashamed of 
expecting nothing l)etter, nothing greater, from such a writer. 
They can latigh imtil their sides ache over Mrs. Gamp, but they 
dread weeping o\ cr dear good Trotty, that personification of 
goodness : sweet Meg, the beau-ideal of female excellence ; 
poor Lihan, and the touching but stern reality of Bill Fern, 
which beguiled me of so many tears. We should pity such 
minds, yet they make us too angiy for pity. I have read The 
Chimes " a third time, and found it as impossible to repress my 
tears when ijcrusing the last scene between Meg and Lilian as 
at the first. — Lady B/essifig/on^ i^45- 

We think him a very original writer — well entitled to his 
popularity, and not likely to lose it — and the truest and most 
spirited delineator of English life, amongst the middle and 
lower classes, since the days of Smollett and Fielding. He 
has remarkable powers of observation, and great skill in com- 
municating what he has observed — a keen sense of the 
ludicrous — exuberant humour— and that mastery in the pathetic 
which, though it seems opposed to the gift of humour, is often 
found in conjunction with it. Add to these qualities an un- 
aftected style, fluent, easy, spirited, and terse — a good deal of 
dramatic power, and great truthfulness and ability in descrip- 
tion. We know no other English Avriter to whom he bears a 
marked resemblance. He sometimes imitates other writers, 
such as Fielding in his introductions, and Washington Irving 
in his detached tales, and thus exhibits his skill as a parodist. 
But his own manner is very distinct, and comparison with any 
other w^ould not serve to illustrate and describe it. We would 
compare him rather with the painter Hogarth. — Edinburgh 
Rn'ieu', 1838. 

His immense power of observation, from the humblest to the 
most important details, his genuine originality of thought and 



Charles Dickens — Charles Mackay, 495 



expression, are among the most striking of his attributes. 
Warm-hearted, impulsive, and generous, of buoyant spirits, the 
keenest intelHgence, and quickest perception of everything 
worthy of notice, of the ridiculous as well as of the beautiful \ his 
independence of spirit, his natural elasticity and constitutional 
energy of mind, vivacity of manner in conversation, and perfect 
freedom from all affectation, enhance the value of his other 
excellent qualities. In him a variety of gifts and graces are 
combined. In all his domestic relations, as son, husband, 
father, and brother, his conduct is unexceptionable. His cha= 
racter seems to have some self-sustaining principle in it, in all 
positions he is placed in. His countenance is, I think, the 
most varying and expressive I ever %dc\\,— Quoted by Dr. Madden, 

Charles Mackay. 
1812. 

Charles Mackay is the first poet, so far as my knowledge 
extends, of the new epoch j the day-star of a brighter day of 
poetry than the world has yet seen. At the same time I fear 
that only the initiated— that is, the individuals with high moral 
organs, more or less cultivated — will understand and feel the 
divine harmony of his poetry. But his fame will rise and last. 
— George Combe. 

Happy is the privilege of genius than can float down the 
hungry generations" in a song ; and, so far as I may venture to 
prophesy, such will be the fortune of Charles Mackay. He 
speaks emphatically for the people. Not inferior to Tennyson 
in artistic skill, he possesses some of the pathetic humour of 
Hood, with a simpKcity which sometimes reminds me of Long= 
fellow j but with a sprightliness, elasticity, and versatility which 
none of them possess. — Douglas Jerrold} 

.... Glorious ballads are those he has given us. Earnest 
in purpose, striving, healthy in tone, breathing energy and en- 
durance in every cadence, his poems are true inspirations, 
spoken by a seer who knows the existing spirit and wants of 
humanity. And mingled with these sterner notes are the tones 



^ Of Douglas Jerrold the Quarterly Review said: "In the brightest 
sallies of conversational wit he has no surviving equal." He sparkled," 
says an admirer, whenever you touched him, like the sea at night. "--^ 



496 Cliarlcs Mackay — Charlotte Bronte. 



of tenderer passions, and the afiiuence of natural beauties and 
hamionies, which teach us that now, as in Paradise of old, love 
is the help meetest for strength. There is an honesty and 
purity about his poetry which indi\ idualizes it. You see at a 
glance that he is not one of the pedlars of " virtuous indigna- 
tion," who would sing the praises of the inquisition, and propose 
to go back to the droit dc sei\:^ncur if the ^' dodge" paid better. 
Hearty and wholesome, marvellously full of pith and pluck, 
reasonably logical, highly and holily aspiring, Mr. Mackay's 
visions of the future arc at once the dreamings of a true poet, 
and an enthusiastically honest and earnest, and fearless and 
uncompromising man. — Afh^^us />. Reach. 

Charlotte Bronte. 
1816-1855. 

Everything written by Currer Bell is remarkable. She can 
touch nothing without leaving on it the stamp of originality. — 
JI. Martijicau. 

She thought much of her duty, and had loftier and clearer 
notions of it than most people, and held fast to them with more 

success All her life was but labour and paiq, and she 

never threw down the burden for the sake of present;^, pleasure. 
— A?ion. 

She once told her sisters that they were wrong — even morally 
wrong — in making their heroines beautiful as a matter of course. 
They replied that it was impossible to make a heroine interesting 
on any other terms. Her answer was, " I will prove u you that 
you are wrong ; I will show you a heroine as plain and as small 
as myself, who shall be as interesting as any of yours." Hence 
' Jane Eyre,'" said she, in telling the anecdote ; " but she is not 
myself any further than that." As the work went on the interest 
deepened to the writer. AMien she came to ''Thomfield " she 
could not stop. Being shortsighted to excess, she wrote in 
little square paper-books, held close to her eyes, and (the first 
copy) in pencil. On she went witing incessantly for three 
weeks, by which time she had carried her heroine away from 
Thornfield, and was herself in a fever, which compelled her to 
pause. — Daily Neivs. 

Any one who has studied her writings, whether in print or in 
her letters; any one who has enjoyed the rare privilege of 
listening to her talk, must have noticed her singular felicity in 



Charlotte Bronte. 



497 



the choice -of vvords. She herself in writing her books was 
soUcitous on this point. One set of words was the truthful 
mirror of her thoughts ; no others, however apparently identical 
in meaning, would do. — Mrs. Gaskell. 

A person who, with great mental powers, combines a total 
ignorance of the habits of society, a great coarseness of taste, 
and a heathenish doctrine of religion. — Quarterly Review^ 1849. 

We take Currer Bell to be one of the most remarkable of 
female writers ; and believe it is now scarcely a secret that 
Currer Bell is the pseudonyme of a w^oman. An eminent con- 
temporary, indeed, has employed the sharp vivacity of a female 
pen to prove upon irresistible evidence" that ^' Jane Eyre" 
must he the work of a man ! But all that irresistible evidence" 
is set aside by the simple fact that Currer Bell is a woman. 
We never, for our own parts, had a moment's doubt on the 
subject. That Jane herself was dravvn by a woman's deHcate 
hand, and that Rochester equally betrayed the sex of the artist, 
was to our minds so obvious, as absolutely to shut our ears to 
all the evidence which could be adduced by the erudition even 
of a ma7'eha7ide de modes ; and that simply because we knew 
that Ihere were women profoundly ignorant of the mysteries of 
the toilet^'^, and the terminology of fashion (independent of the 
obvious lution, that such ignorance might be counterfeited, to 
mislead), and felt that there was no man who could so have 
delineated a woman — or luould so have delineated a man. The 
fair and ingenious critic was misled by her own acuteness in 
the perc^^ption of details ; and misled also in some other 
way, and'%iore uncharitably, in concluding that the author 
of " Jane Eyre" was a heathen educated among heathens — the 
fact being, that the authoress is the daughter of a clergyman ! 
This qiiiHSStion of authorship, which was somewhat hotly 
debated a little while ago, helped to keep up the excitement 
about " Jane Eyre ;" but, independently of that title to noto- 
riety, it is certain that, for many years, there had been no work 
of such power, piquancy, and originality. Its very faults were 
faults on the side of vigour ; and its beauties were all original. 
The grand secret of its success, however — as of all genuine 
and lasting success — v/as its reality. From out the depths of 
a sorrowing experience here was a voice speaking to the expe- 
rience of thousands. The aspects of external nature, too, were 
painted with equal fideUty — -the long cheerless winter days, 
chilled with rolling mists occasionally gathering into the strength 

K K 



498 



C liar lot tc B route — Emily Bronte. 



of rains — the bright spring mornings — the clear solemn nights 
— were all painted to your soul as well as to your eye, by a 
pencil clipped into a soul's experience for its colours. Faults 
enough the book has undoubtedly : faults of conception, faults 
of taste, faults of ignorance ; but in spite of all, it remains a 
book of singular fascination. A more masculine book, in the 
sense of \'igour, was never written. Indeed that vigour often 
amounts to coarseness — and is certainly the very antipode to 
'Mady-like." — George Ilcnry Lck'cs^ Edifiburgh Rrcicw^ ^850.^ 

Emily Bronte. 
I S19-1S48. 

^' Wuthering Heights" was hewn in a wild workshop, with 
simple tools, out of homely materials. The statuary found a 
granite block on a solitary moor ; gazing thereon he saw how 
from the crag might be elicited a head, savage, swart, sinister ; 
a form moulded with at least one element of grandeur, power. 
He wrought with a rude chisel, and from no model but the 
vision of his meditations. With time and labour the crag took 
human shape ; and there it stands, colossal, dark, and frowning, 
half statue, half rock ; in the former sense terrible and goblin- 
like — in the latter almost beautiful, for its colouring is of 
mellow gTey, and moorland moss clothes it ; and heath, with its 
blooming bells and balmy fragrance, grows faithfully close to the 
giant's foot. — CJiarlottc Bronte. 

It has been said of Shakspeare that he drew cases which 
the physician might study ; Ellis Bell has done no less. — S. 
Dobcll. 

No coward soul is mine, 
No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere : 

I see heaven's glories shine, 
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. 

E. Bronte. 



1 Mr. Lewes, I divine, with all his talents and honesty, must have some 
faults of manner ; there must be a touch too much of dogmatism ; a dash 
extra of confidence in him sometimes. This you think while you are read- 
ing the book ; but when you have closed it and laid it do^^-n, and sat a few 
minutes collecting your thoughts and settling your impressions, you find 
the idea or feeling predominant in your mind to be pleasure at the fuller 
acquaintance you have made with a fine mind and a true heart, with high 
abilities and manly principles. — Charloite Bronte. 



Emily Bronte — James Russell Lowell 499 

Emily had a head for logic and a capability of argument 
unusual in a man, and rare indeed in a woman, according to M. 
Heger. Impairing the force of this gift was a stubborn tenacity 
of will, which rendered her obtuse to all reasoning where her 
own wishes or her own sense of right was concerned. " She 
should have been a man — a great navigator," said M. Heger in 
speaking of her. Her powerful reason would have deduced 
new spheres of discovery from the knowledge of the old ; and 
her strong imperious will would never have been daunted by 
opposition or difficulty — never have given way but with life." 
And yet, moreover, her faculty of imagination was such that, if 
she had written a history, her view of scenes and characters 
would have been so vivid, and so powerfully expressed, and 
supported by such a show of argument, that it would have 
dominated over the reader, whatever might have been his pre- 
vious opinions or his cooler perceptions of its truth. But she 
appeared egotistical and selfish compared to Charlotte.— i^/'j". 
Gaskell, Life of Charlotte Bronte^^ 

James Russell Lowell. 
1819. 

Lowell unites in his most effective power the dreamy, sug- 
gestive character of the transcendental bard with the philosophic 
simplicity of Wordsworth. — LL. T, l^uckermau. 

He is the Hudibras of America. — Bungay's Off-hand 
Takings'^ 

The successive publications of Mr. Lowell show a marked 
progress, and encourage us to hope for a ripe harvest when the 
soil shall be cultivated to the utmost and the fruit has been 
allowed to reach its full maturity. The swift movement of 
Mr. Lowell's verses and the daring energy of his conceptions 
show that his genius inclines to the lyric form of poetry. — 
A, R. Scoble, 



^ To Emily Bronte's genius justice seems hardly to have been done. 
Her sister, indeed, recognised, and may be said to have adored it. Emily 
Bronte's mind was at once dark and luminous, like the eyes of an Indian. 
Her qualities were each and all splendid, but too massive and masculine 
br her frail frame, worn and worried by consumption. " Wuthering 
Heights" is a noble work. Frequent passages haunt one like scenes from 
* Macbeth" or the Cenci." In some points her genius seems superior to 
ler sister's.— Ed. 

K K 2 



500 



John Ruskin. ;. 

1S19. 

Mr. Ruskin seems to mc one of the few genuine writers, as 
distinguished from bookmakers, of this age. His earnestness 
even amuses me in certain passages ; for I cannot help laughing 
to think how utilitarians will fume and fret over his deep, 
serious (and as they will think) fanatical reverence for Art. That 
l)ure and severe mind you ascribed to him sj^eaks in every line. 
He writes like a consecrated Priest of the Abstract and Ideal. 
— CJiarlottc Bronte'. 

I think it must be admitted by all unprejudiced minds that 
Mr Ruskin's criticism on the theory of Sir Joshua's — which 
makes the essential characteristic of the grand style to be the 
avoidance of temi)orary and local circumstances and precise 
details — is sound and searching, and that his own definition of 
the grand style is as much superior to that of Sir Joshua in 
comprehensiveness and sound philosophy as it is in the elo- 
ijuence of its expression. — C. R. Leslie. 

After having made a fame by hanging to the skirts of a 
famous artist — after deluding those cravings for honesty into 
the belief that a dashing style must imply precious discoveries 
— after having met the humour of the time, by preaching the 
religion of architecture with a freedom in the use of sacred 
names and things from which a more reverential man would 
have shrunk — after having ser\'ed as an eloquent though too 
flattering guide to the treasures of Venice — after having en- 
riched the citizens of this Scottish metropolis with receipts how 
to amend the architecture of our city by patching Palladian 
squares, streets, and crescents with Gothic windows, balconies, 
and pinnacles — after having lectured to decorators on the 
beauty and virtue of painting illegible letters on signboards and 
shop-fronts — the wisdom of Mr. Ruskin has of late begun to 
cry in the streets. He attempts to erect the most extravagant 
paradoxes into new canons of taste ; and the virulence of his 
personalities is only exceeded by the eccentricity of his judg- 
ment, — Edi?ihirgh Rrcieiu, 1856. 



INDEX. 



**^BBOTSFORD," W. Irviiig's, 
412 

Abel Drugger," 243 
** Absalom and Adiitophel," 124 
'* Account of the Great English 

Poets," 99" 
Acting, Garrick's, 243 

Acts and Monuments," Foxe's, 17 
Addison, Joseph, 19, 32, 59, 61, 
64, 81, 86, 99, 118, 121, 127, 
140, 145, 152, 153. 167 
Adonais," Shelley's, 458 
Aikin, Lucy, 82, 93, 127, 142, 148 
Akenside, M., 3, 39, 119, 258 
Alchemist," The, 215 
Alexander's Feast," Story of, 96, 

97, 71. 

Allen, Cardinal, 22 
Amwell, Scott, of, 288 
Analogy," Butler's, 195 

Anything to be proved 
by, 195 

** Analysis of Beauty," Hogarth s, 
205 

* 'Anatomy of Melancholy, " Burton's, 
47^48 ^ . 

Ancient Marmer," The, 391 
Anderson, Dr., 213, 228, 238, 283, 

289, 298, 300, 313, 340 
Anecdotes of Atterbury, 129 
Behn, 114 
J. Bentham, 328 
Blacklock, 265 
W. L. Bowles, 359 
E. Burke, 288 
Dr. Burney, 338 
S. T. Coleridge, 393 
W. Combe, 316 
J. P. Curran, 334, tr. 
J. Dennis, 126 
J. Dryden, 96 
C. J. Fox, 330 



Anecdotes of Gifford, 459 
,, O. Goldsmith, 283 

Hill, 321, n. 
,, J. Hogg, 390, ;/., 391 
,, D. Hume, 225 
Dr. Hurd, 253 
S. Jenyns, 213 
,, Sir W. Jones, 324 

Keats, 458 
,, M. G. Lewis, 406 
Lord Lyttleton, 228 
Charles Macklin, 191 
Dr. Maginn, 457 
,, D. Mallet, 209 

Dr. Paley, 317, 3 18 
A. Phillips, 151, 152 
A. Pope, 182 
R. Porson, 326 
Lord Rochester, 115 
,, S. Rogers, 368 
,, Dr. Sacheverel, 141 
Sir W. Scott, 362, 38 
Adam Smith, 271 
L. Sterne, 230 
,, Dr. Wolcot, 306 

Sir. H. Wotton, 41 
,, Dr. E. Young, 176 
Anstey, C, 273 
"Apollo Club," 45 
Arber, E., 49, 60 
Arbuthnot, Dr., 167 
" Arcadia," The, 30 
Architecture, Vanbrugh's, 137 
Ariosto, 31 
Aristotle, 32 
Arnold, Dr., 460 
"Artemisia," 193 
Ascham, R., 12 
*' Athenaeum," The, 443 
Attack on the Stage, Collier's, I 
Atterbury, Bp., 107, 128, 174 
" Atticus," 160 



502 



Index, 



Aubrey, 35, 47, 51, 84 
Auchinlech, Lord, 217 
Augustan Age, England's, 1S5 
Austen, Jane, 402 
"Autobiography," Matliews'>, 321 
Aylmer, Bp., 16, 



BACON, Roger, i 
Lord, I, 32 

Baillie, 17 

Joanna, 360 
Ballantyne, J., the publisher, 374 

'Mrs., 3S6 
Bancroft, Bishop, 21 
Bankes, William, 3S3 
Bannat)nie, 15 
Barbauld, Mrs., 318 
Barham, Rev. R. II. D., 43S, 457, 
467 

Barlow, Dr., 86 
Barnard, Lady Anne, 225 
Barrow, Isaac, 77, 94 
Bath, Lord, 294 
Baxter, R., 49, 76 
Beattie, Dr., 299 
Beau Brummel, 311, 
Beaumont and Fletcher, 49 
Beauties of Jeremy Taylor, 74 
Beckford, W., 356 
Bedlam, 125 
" Beggar's Opera," 185 
Behn, Afra, 113 
Bell, Robert, 95 
Bentliam, Jeremy, 2S7, 327 
Bentley, R., 49» I30» ^42 
Bentley's Miscellany, 481 
Berkeley, Lord, 49 

Bishop, 175 
Berry, Miss, 338, 349, 3^3 
Bible, Atterbuiy's ideas of, 129 
Bickerstaffe, I., 298 
Biographia Britannica, 61, 168, 259 
Birch, Dr. 183 

Birthday Odes,'' Gibbers, 150 
Blacklock, Dr. T., 264 
Blackmore, Sir R., 120, 126, 141 
Blackwood's Magazine, 29, 129, 142, 

179, 188, 230, 254, 288, 292, 297, 

301, 332, 343. 34S, 376, 395. 414. 

488 

Blair, Hugh, 94, 182, 247, 307 
Blanchard, L., 473 



Blenheim, Victory of, 160 
Blessing, Midwife's, 104 
Blessington, Lady, 404, 410, 434, 

442, 477, 481, 492, 494 
Boaden, J., 324, 346 
Bolingbroke, Lord, 42, 168, 181 
" Book of >Iartyrs," 17 
Boscovich, Pere, 108 
Boswell, James, 16, 17, 58, 76, 88, 

128, 178, 179, 182, 201, 210, 216, 

219, ;/., 227, 233, 240, 242, 249, 

278, 291, 293, 295, 310 
Bowles, W. L., 290, 358 

,, Caroline, 454 
Boyle, Robert, 34, 86 

,, " Lectures," 131 
Brady, N., 124 
Braybroke, Lord, 10 1 
" Bravo of Venice," Tlic, 407 
Briscoe, 88 

Bronte, C, 190, w., 402, 460, 475, 

488, 496, 498, 500 4 
Bronte, L., 498 * 
Brooke, Lord, 30 
Broome, 173 

Brougham, Lord, 257, 287, 364, 

376, 414 
Broughton, Lord, 431 
Browne, Sir Thomas, 62 

J. H., 436 
Browning, E. B., 291, 483 
Brutality, L'Estrange's, 79 
Br>'ant, W. C, 466 
Brydges, Sir E., 57, 104, 296, 354 
Buccleugh, Duke of, 406 
Buchanan, George, 16 
Buckhurst, Lord, see Dorset 
Buckingham, Lord, $5, 87, 130, 
151, 178 
i Buckle, H. T., 272 
j Budgell, E., 157, 177, 178, n. 
\ " Bufo," 127 

Bunyan, John, 90 
i Bur, Boswell a, 315 |, 
Burial, Dr>'den's, 95 
,, Sterne's, 231 
Burke, E., 32, 169, 213, 284, 334, \ 
347 

Burke, E., Author of "Junius," 376 j 
Bume, N., 14 i 
1 Burnet, Bishop, 7, 10, 18, 21, 4 1, 
j 54, 61, 65, 68, 77, 79, 84, 86, 88, 
! 89, 92, 95, III, 115, 147 



Index, 



503 



Burney, Dr., 215, 273 

Miss, see D'Arblay 

Bums, R., 232, 248, 351 

Burton, R., 47 

Butler, Samuel, 72, 88 
,, Bishop, 147, 194 

Buxton, Sir F., 414 

Byron, Lord, 3, 36, 58, 139, 144, 
174, 181, 185, 189, 194, 214, 
215, 230, 239, 244, 275, 290, 

323» 330, 335. 343. 34^, 35o. 
352, 354, 360, 362, 365, 367, 

374. 376, 385. 389. 391. 396, 
408, 414, 416, 418, 420, 426, 
429, 431, 432, 444, 450, 458 
Byron and his Contemporaries," 
Hunt's, 426, 71. 



(^ALVINISM, 90 

^ Campbell, Thomas, 5, 29, 40, 
57, 140, 283, 347, 352, 367, 409, 

434. 453 
Campbell, Lord, 7, 34, 68 
,, Dr., 221 

Campaign," Origin of the, 160, ;/. 

Caricature History of the Georges," 

Wright's, 238 
Carlisle, Earl of, 332 
Carlyle, Thomas, 16, 38, 48, 189, 

217, 231, 326, 354, 424, 433, 455, 

462 

Carrick, Dr., 323 
Carter, Mrs., 246 

Castle of Indolence," The, 211 

Castle of Otranto," 244 

Castle Spectre," 407 

Cato," Addison's, 154 
Causabon, 130 
Caxton, 3 

Centlivre, Mrs., 106 

Chalmers, T., 16, 216 

Chambers, R., 179, 328, 346, 423, 

429, 464 
Chandler, Bishop, 194 
Charles I., 53 

„ n., 94 

Character, Steele's, 149, n, ; Addi- 
son's, 153 ; Gay's, 183, ; Bos- 
well's, 312, 71. 

Chatterton, Thomas, 340 

Chaucer, G., 2, 3 



Chesterfield, Earl of, 129, 156, 167, 

169, 181, 197, 199 
Chichester, Bishop of, 409 
Chidley, 43 

*'Childe Harold," 356, n., 358, 370 
Chillingworth, 74 
"Christian Hero," Steele's, 149 
Church of England Quarterly Re- 
view, 17, 53, 403, 413, 464, 470, 

483, 485 
" Church History," Fuller's, 71 
Church, Addison at, 159, n. 
Churchill, Charles, 38, 47, 19 1, 207, 

227, 242, 263, 293 
Gibber, Colley, 125, 137, 149, 150, 

242 

Gibber, Theo., "Lives of the 

Poets," 210 
" City of the Plague," Wilson's, 430 
City poet, 117 

Clarendon, Earl of, 49, 61, 67 
"Clarisse Harlowe," 188 
Clarke, Dr. Samuel, 166, 

„ J. S., 289 
Clearness of sight the foundation of 

talent, 189 
Cleghorn, Dr., 265 
Clement VIL, Pope, 22 
Clifford, Martin, 95 
Cobbett, W., 363 
Cockburn, Lord, 387 
" Cockney-bred setter of rabbits," 

426 

Coffee-house, Addison in the, 159, n. 
Cole, — , 213 

Coleridge, S. T., 2, 34, 35, 38, 59, 
70, 74, 91, 98, 140, 146, 188, 206, 
215, 296, 322, 341, 352, 360, 364, 

379. 388, 391. 399. 405. 415. 437. 
461 

Coleridge, Hartley, 13, 43, 132, 

146, 465 
Coleridge, Derwent, 466 
Justice, 462 

Collet, 8 
Collier, 25, loi 

,, Jeremy, 122 
Collins, W., 250 
A., 30 

Colman, G., 278, 303, 365, 368 
Colton, Caleb, 116 
Combe, W., 315 
„ George, 495 



504 



Index. 



Complaint,'' The, 82 
*' Complete Angler," 57 
Congreve, W., 93, 93, 123, 143 
Cooke, Thomas, 261 
Cooper, J. F., 445 

,, Mr., 259 
Corbet, Bishop, 43 
Courtenny, Peregrine, 1S5, 26S 
Cornhill Magazine, 135 
''Correspondence," I.ady Suffolk's, 

244 

Cottle, Joseph, 435 

Cotton, C, 58, 1 14 

Courage, Rochester's want of, 1 16 

Cowley, A., 28, 33, 41, 80, 82 

Cowper, Sir W., 22 

^V., 97, 120, 166, 168, 
203, 210, 220, 240, 250, 290, 294, 

299» 352 
Crabbe, G., 2S6, 346 
Cradock, 207 
Craik, G. L., 226 
Cranmer, Archbishop, 10 
*' Crazy Tales," 273 
"Creation," Blackmore's, Note on, 

121 

Critic, Lord Roscommon, a good, 102 
Critics, Tennyson's, 4S6, //. 
Croft, Herbert, 176, 340 
Croker, J. W., 16, 291, 29S, 299, 

30S, 311. 456 
Cumberland, R., 217, 242, 281, 294 
*'Cumnor Hall," Mickle's, 298 
Cunningham, Allan, 152, 180, 203 
Curll, 180, 

Cun-an, J. P., 217, 285, 301, 334, n. 
Cun-ie, Dr., 292 

'PV AILY News,*' newspaper, 496 
^ Dalzel Professor, 256 
D'Arblay, Madame, 252, 287, 310, 

315. 337 
D'Avenant, Sir W., 35, 64 
Davies, Thomas, 143, 209, 227, 293, 

294, 308 
De Jurd Rcgni, Buchanans, 17 
De Quincey, 57, 393 
Declamation, C. J. Fox's, 33 1 
*' Decline and Fall," Gibbon's, 305 
Defoe, Daniel, 91, 133 
Denham, Sir J., 125, 146, I49j 181 
Description, Anstey's, C, 273 



DoNcripiion, Bentham's, J., 328 

,, Blessington's,Co.of.442 

Burke's, 287 
,, Burnet's, Bp., 1 1 1 

Burns, 353 
,, Byron's, 432 
,, Campbell's, T., 410 
,, Chatterton's, 340 
,, Chesterfield's, Lord, 199 
,, Cobbett's, W., 364 

Coleridge's, 392 
,, Crabbe's, 346 

Defoe's, 133 
,, Dennis, John, 126 

Disraeli's, B., 477 
,, Kdge worth's. Miss, 373 
,, Elliott'.s, Ebenezer, 423 
,, Falconer's, W., 289 
,, Fletcher's, 51 
,, Garrick's, David, 243 
,, Gibbon's, 304 
,, Gifford's, 351 
,, Goldsmith's, O., 279 
,, Hemans, Mrs., 457 
,, PI ill's, Rowland, 319 
,, Hook'.s, T., 438 
,, Hunt's, Leigh, 427 
,, Hurd's, Bishop, 253 
,, Inchbald's, Mrs,, 344 
,, Jenyns, S., 212 
,, Johnson's, S., 221 
,, Keats's, John, 458 

Lamb's, C, 399 
,, Landon's, L. E., 472 
,, Lewis's, M. G., 406 
,, Lyttleton's, Lord, 222 

Lytton's, Lord, 480 

Mackintosh's, Sir J., 
373 

,, Martineau's, H,, 475 
,, Mar^-el's, A., 84 

Montagu's, Lady M., 
194 

,, Montagu's, Mrs., 252, 
Montgomery's, James, 
388 

Moore's, Thomas, 42 1 
,, More's, Sir T., 8 
,, Newton's, Sir L, 109 
,, Pope's, A., 181 

Porson's, R., 354 
,, Prior's, 135 
., Raleigh's, Sir W., 20 



Index, 



Description, Rogers's, S., 367 
Rowe's, N., 165 
Scott's, John, 289 
Scott's, Sir W., 385 
Shelley's, 450 
Sidney's, Sir P., 31 
Smollett's, T., 260 
,, Southey's, 396 

Walpole's, H., 244 
Wilkes's, J., 275 
Willis's, N. P., 482 
Wilson's, J., 430 
Devey, Joseph, 35 
*' Diaboliad," Combe's, 316 
Dialogues of the Dead," 197 
Diary," D'Arblay's, 252 
Evelyn's, 82 
Moore's, T., 358, 405 
Pepys', 100 
5, Pryme's, De la, 109 
Scott's, Sir W., 336 
Dickens, Charles, 490, 492 
Diction, Bentley's, 132 
Dinner, Hook at a, 438 
Dinner Table, Sir J. Reynolds's, 
268 

''Discourses," Barrow's, 95; Rey- 
nolds's, 206 

Discoveries, Bacon's, R., i 
Boyle's, R., 87 
Priestley's, Dr., 296 

''Dispensary," The, quoted, 121 

D'Israeli, Isaac, i, 2, 5, 60, 79, 91, 
130, 183, 220, 231, 232, 251, 298 

Disraeli, Benjamin, 477 

''Divine Legation," Warburton's, 
207 

Dobell, S., 498 

"Doctrine of the Trinity," Whis- 

ton's, 142; Clarke's, 167 
"Doctrine of Tinth," Hume's, 226 
Dodsley, R., 152, 197, 232 
Doggrels, 300, n. 
" Don Carlos," Otway's, 123 
"Don Juan," 380, 396 
Donegal, Marchioness of, 368 
Donne, Dr. J., 42, 43 
Doran, Dr., 224, 292 
Dorset, Lord, 18, 103 
Dover, Lord, 223, 244 
Drake, N., 25 
Dramatic Biography, 88 
Dramatist, Addison as a, 162, 11. 



Drayton, M., 26, 30 
" Dream of Eugene Aram," 468 
Drummond, Jonson and, 44 
Dryden, John, 3, 18, 29, 34, 42, 44, 
46, 50. 55. 65, 66, 78, 87, 95, 
102, 104, 105, 116, 117, 122, 124, 
138, 145 

Duel between Lords Buckingham 

and Shrewsbury, 87 
Dunbar, Sir W. , 6 
"Dunciad," The, 166 
Dyer, George, 377, 398 




Edgeworth, Maria, 345, 373 

,, Richard Lovell, 345, 

374, n. 

Edinburgh Journal, Chambers's^ 
457, 493 

Edinburgh Review, 9, 18, 20, 29, 
31, 47, 52, 53, 55, 62, 64, 69, 71, 
78, 84, 91, 98, 99, 102, 118, 119, 
125, 132, 134, 153, 171, 200, 
211, 215, 226, 236, 245, 274, 
291, 294, 331, 349, 361, 366, 

375, 378, 3S8, 395, 398, 403, 
404, 409, 417, 420, 422, 426, 

431, 444, 445, 451, 456, 459» 
460, 466, 468, 471, 478, 480, 
483, 487, 490, 491, 494, 498, 
500 

Effect of Locke's writings, 99 
Egeria, see Mrs. Hemans. 
" Elegy in a Country Churchyard," 
239 

"Elegies," J. Scott's, 288 
Elibank, Lord, 256 
Elizabeth, Queen, 13 
ElUott, Ebenezer, 342, 348, 423, 
460 

Ellis, George, 6 

„ W., 367 
Emerson, R. W., 36, 50, 475 
England's debt to Addison, 162, 
English and Scotch, 17 

,, writer, the first, 2 
" English Bards and Scotch Re= 

viewers," 388, 406 
Enormous thought. Young's, 177 
"Epigoniad," Wilkie's, 256 
Epigrams on Hill, 236 



5o6 



Index. 



** Epistle to Curio," Akenside's, 258, 
n. 

Epitaph, Colman's, 366 
Erasmus, 9 

Erudition, Burke^, 2SS 
Essay?;, Bacon's, 33 
''Essay on Pope," 182 

,, on Translated Wmsc," 102 

., on Man," 100 
on Truth," 299 

,, on Bailments, 325 
Essex, Earl of, 32 
Etheredi^e, Sir G., 145 
Ettrick Shepherd, sec Hogg 
" Euphues," 24 
European Magazine, 298 
Evelyn, John, 34, 82 
*' Evidences of Christianity, 317 
Examiner, The, 469 
•* Exile of Erin, " Campbell's, 410 
Extraordinary activity, Pepy^'s, loi 



" rTAKRV Queen," 26 
Fairfax, Brian, 87 
Falconer, W., 289 
"Familiar Letters," Iloweirs, 60 
Fanshawe, Catherine, 375, 
Farquhar, 95, 103 
Farrer, 59 
Feltham, 46 
Felton, 81 
Fell, Dr., 99 
Fenton, Elijah, 102, 173 
Ferriar, Dr., 52 

Fielding, H., 190, 194, 202, 215 
Filicaja, 118 

"First Blast," Knox's, 13 
Fisher, Peter, 60 
Flamsteed, no 
Fletcher, Phineas, 27 
Floud, Robert, 57 
Foote, S., 242, 261 
Forbes, Sir W., 313 
Formosa, 172 
Forster, John, 492 
Fox, John, 4, 17 

„ C. J., 52, 90, 139, 284, 298, 

329 

Fox, George, 84 
Francis, Sir Philip, 376 
„ Mr., 478 



Franklin, B., 91, 213, 234 
" Free Inquiry," Jenyns', 219 
Friend, Dr., i 
Frolic, Sedley's, 103 
Fr)', Elizabeth, 346 
Fuller, Thomas, 18, 28, 39, 46, 70, 
i 84 

j Fulsome praise, Dryden's, 19 
I Funeral Sermon, Baxter's, 77 



r;AIXSBOROUGH, T., 243 

^ Gallileo, 34 

Gait, John, 433, 457 

Ciambling, Fox's, 333 

Garrick, David, 219, 236, 240, 279, 

294, 322 

Ciarth, Dr., 19, 121, 127, 128, 145, 

163, 186 
Gaskell, Mrs., 497 
Ciataker, 130 

^^y^ J-» 135' 145. 183 

Gell, Sir \\ illiam, 404 

Gentle Shepherd," 179 
Gentleman, A Model, 82 
(ienius, T. Fuller's, 70 

for comedy, Farquhar's, 103, 11. 

,, ,, Shadwell's, 105 

,, Wycherley's, 105 

George II., 169, 200 
George III., 37, 237 
George IV., 384 
"Gertrude of Wyoming," 410 
Gibbon, E., 19, 25, 153, 207, 215, 

225, 257, 277, 296, 303, 323, 333 
Gifford, W., 25, 310, 315, 349 
Gildon, 168 
Gilfillan, George, 481 
" Gipsy," Wolcot's, 306 
Gloucester, Duchess of, 322 
Glover, R., 227 
Godfrey, ^Iiss, 420 
Godwin, W., 348 

Goldsmith, O., 52, 67, 169, 171, 
208, 210, 220, 239, 241, 278, 284, 

295, 299 

Good Words, the Magazine, 489 
Gore House, 444 
Gower, J., 2 

Grahame, " Sepulchral," 431, >i. 
Grammont, Count de, 88 
Grand nonsense, 150 



Index. 



507 



^'Grandison, Sir Charles," 189 

Grant, Mrs., 190 

Grattan, T. C., 286, 377 

Gray, T., 36, 147, 230, 232, 238, 

299, 313 
Greatest genius and writer, 30 
" Greek Tragic and Comic Metres," 

Tate's, 132 
Greene, 35 

Gregory, Dr., 230, 340, 
Griswold, 482, 484, 491 
Gwynne, Nell, 106 



TT ABITS of Sir T. More, 9 ; Ben 
Jonson, 47 ; Beaumont and 
Fletcher, 51 ; John Evelyn, 83 ; 
George Fox, 85 ; Lord Bucking- 
ham, 88 ; S. Pepys, loi ; W. 
Wycherley, 106 ; I. Newton, no: 
Lord Rochester, 115 ; Prior, 136 ; 
W. Whiston, 152 ; J. Addison, 
153 ; E. Young, 177 ; J. Gay, 
183 ; S. Richardson, 188 ; Lady 
M. Montagu, 194 ; Earl of Ches- 
terfield, 199 ; Bishop Warburton, 
207 ; D. Mallet, 209 ; S. Jenyns, 
213 ; W. Cowper, 292 ; J. Bos- 
well, 312, n. ; Dr. Parr, 327 ; C. 
J. Fox, 330, 333 ; R. Porson, 
354 ; W. L. Bowles, 359 ; W. 
Cobbett, 364 ; Lord Lytton, 481 

Hale, Sir M., 49 

Hales, Lord, 136 

Hall, Robert, 291, 297, 319, 370 
,, >Irs. S. C, 444 

Hallam, H., i, 2, 4, 5, 10, 13, 25, 26, 
33, 51, 52, 67, 71, 396, 413, 429 

Hallam, A., 488 

Hamilton, Sir W., 100 

,, William Gerard, 377 
Hamlet," 241 

Hampton, in 

Hannay, James, 475, 489, 491 

Haunted House," Hood's, 468 
Hawkins, Sir J. 24, 58, 92, 142, 281 
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 476 
Haydon, B. R., 189, 283, 335, 374, 
381, 383, 387, 401, 419, 422, 428, 

435» 443. 45o» 460 
Hayley, W., 323 
Hayward, A., 310, 470 
Hazlitt, W., 4, 24, 40, 52, 63, 75, 



204, 238, 328, 348, 364, 381, 394, 

401, 410, 415, 432 
Hearne, Mr., 108 
" Heir at Law," Colman's, 366 
Hemans, FeHcia, 379, 386, 395, 453 
Henderson, the actor, 295 
Henley, ''Orator," 143, 195 
Henry, Dr., 2 
Henry VH., History of, 33 
Henry VIIL, 11 
Heraud, J. S., 474 
Herbert, George, 59 
"Hermit of Warkworth, " 277 
Herrick, 46 

Herring, Archbishop, 48, 128 
Hervey, G., 25 

,, Lord, 169, 180, 199 
Heywood, 40, 51 
Hibbert, 40 
Hickes, 118 
Hill, Aaron, 183, 221 

,, Rowland, 319 

,, Sir J., 236, 267 
" Hind and Panther," in 
" History of My Own Times," 113 
of the World," 20 
,, of Henry n.," 222 
Hobbes, T., 54 
Hobbism, 55 

Hobhouse, Sir J. C, sec' Lord 

Broughton 
" Hohenlinden," Campbell's, 412 
Hogarth, W., 204, 221, 293 
Hogg, J., 99, 317, 353, 379, 389, 

430, 451, 464 
W., 391 
Holcroft, T., 191 
Holland, Lord, 325 
Holland House, 347 
Holmes, O. W., 36, 469, 484 
" Homes and Haunts of the Poets," 

475 

Homer, Translation of, 291 

Honesty, Bishop Burnet's, 113 

Hood, T., 467 

Hook, Theodore, 436, 479 

Hooke, 34 

Hooker, 21, 22, 23 

Hoole, 289 

" Horse Paulinae," 317 
Home, R. H., 486 
Horner, Francis, 272, 333, 372, 
415 



508 /;, 

Hotten, J. C, 316 

Houghton, Lord, 458 

Howell, 32, 45, 59 

Ilowitt, W., 5, 233, 347, 362, 3S7, 

388, 389, 397, 423, 430, 4^. 473» 
486 

" Hudibras," 72 
Hughes, J., 33, 87, loS 

„ . Dr., 76, 83 
Humanity, Fox's, 331 
Hume, David, 11, 14, 17, 20, 29, 

31, 32, 34, 39» 41, 44. 47, 5^, 
69, 73, 79, 81, 85, 87, 89, 90, 
98, 105, 109, 116, 123, 147, 171, 
224, 307 

Humour, Addison's, 155. 159 ; 

Footers, 261 
" Humphrey Clinker,'' 260 
Hunt, Leigh, 44, 164, 194, 3S0, 

392, 397, 400, 422, 426, 450, 459, 

479 

Hunt, Thornton, 426, ri. 

Hurd, Bp., 9, II, 13, 31, 42, 70, 
81, 100, 113, 136, 163, 168, 181, 
20S, 217, 226, 252, 2S8, 297, 300, 
303. 314, 343 



*'TLL\D, *' Pope's postscript to, 
J- 146 

Image of a wren, Gibber's, 150 
Imageiy, Jeremy Taylor's, 76 
"Improvement of the Mind," 

Watts's, 166 
Improvisation, Hook's power of, 

440 

"In Memoriam," Tennyson's, 485 
Inchbald, Mrs., 344 
Income, Shakspeare's, 35 
Indecency, Wycherley's, 105 
Indelicacy, Lady Montagu's, 194 
Individuality of Shakspeare's por- 
traits, 35 

Influence on English literature, 

Coleridge's, 391 
Injudicious admiration, Thackeray's, 

161, 71. 

Interview between Macklin and 

Mathews, 191 
Ireland's debt to Swift, 141 
Irish and Scotch, 422 
Irony, Pope's, 156 
Irving, Edward, 446 



Irving, Washington, 281, 313, 425, 
466 

"Isabella," Southerne's, 113 
"Isle of Palms," The, 430 
Ivimey, Mr., 91 



TAGO, 233, 

James, Bishop, 21 

M I., 43 
Jameson, Mrs., 454 
"Jane Eyre," 497 
Jargon, Henley's, 196, ;/. 
Jeaffreson, 306 

Jealousy, Boswell's, of Goldsmith, 
279, ;/. 

Jeffrey, Lord, 40, 51, 64, 123, 369 

Jenyns, Soame, 212, 219 

Jerrold, Douglas, 403, 495 

Jewell, Bishop, 21 

Jewsbury, Miss, 455 

" John Bull," Epigram in, 327 

,, Colman's Comedy, 

365 

"John Woodvil," 400 

Johnson, Samuel, 2, 4, 8, 13, 19, 33, 
35, 36, 43, 45, 47, 61, 62, 63, 65, 
72, 78, 81, 89, 91, 93, 96, 102, 
III, 116, 120, 122, 123, 127, 
128, 129, 133, 136, 138, 144, 
150, 151, 154, 164, 166, 167, 
168, 169, 171, 173, 177, 178, 
182, 187, 188, 196, 199, 201, 
204, 206, 208, 210, 216, 217, 
223, 225, 227, 230, 232, 233, 
237, 239, 240, 241, 247, 249, 
250, 251, 253, 255, 274, 279, 
284, 296, 299, 311, 319, 330, 
333, 341, 346, 376 

" Johnsoniana," 174, 325 

Jokers, Practical, 439, ;/. 

Joking, Hook's Practical, 439, 
441, 442, ?i. 

Jones, Sir W., 324 

Jonson, Ben, 32, 35, 40, 44, 51 

"Joseph Andrews," 217 

"Journal to Stella," Swift's, 174 
,, Miss Berr)''s, 244, 376, 
384, 409, 410, ;/. 

"Julian and Maddalo," Shelley's, 
448 

Jumus, 376 

"Justification by Faith," 95 



Index, 



509 



"Lf AIMES, Lord, 214 

Keats, John, 27, 40, 4I9 

Wilson's hatred 

of, 430, 45S 
Kelly, Hugh, 300, 308 
Kemble, J. P., 344 
^'Kenilworth," Scott's, 298 
Kenrick, W., 248 
Kepler, 34 

Kmg Arthur," Blackmore s, 120 
^'King Coll," 151 
Kmg, Dr., 23, 40, 43, 113, 138 
Kingston, Duchess of, 262 
Kingsley, Charles, 25 
Knight, Lady, 221 
Knowles, Sheridan, 427 
Knox, John, 13, 15, 16 

,, Vicesimus, 341 

T AMB, C, 71, 105, 144, 204, 

392, 399, 427, 447 
Lambism, 401 
Landon, L. E., 472 
Landor, W. S., 99, 394, 403, 434, 

443, 446, 474, 494 
Langbaine, Dr., 49 
Langhonie, J., 239, 249, 300, 307 
Langland, W., 5 
Langton, Bennet, 188 
Language, S. Butler's command of, 

72 

Language, Lord Brougham's com- 
mand of, 416 
Lansdowne, Lord, 114, 164, n. 
Lap-dog, Gay compared to a, 184, 
Laud, Archbishop, 41 
Laughter, Shakspeare's, 38 
56 

Learning, Jeremy Taylor's, 74 
Leather Breeches, 'The Man in," 
84 

Leclerc, 118 

Lee, N., 124 

*' Leonidas," 210, 228 

Lepell, Molly, 180, n. 

Leslie, C. R., 204, 306, 358 

L'Estrange, Sir R., 79 

Letter, Johnson's to Macpherson,3o7 

Letters, Prior's bad style in his, 137 

,, Chesterfield's, 197 
Gray's, 240 

„ Mrs. Grant's, 247, 323, 



324, 34B, 361, 375. 386, 397, 
441, 456, 474 

Letters on Toleration,' lOO 

Walpole's, 245 
„ Junius's, 376, 377, 378 
,, to Maria Gisborne, 427, n. 
Leviathan," Hobbes', 146 

Lewes, G. H., 402, 498, 

" Lewesdon Hall," 360, n. 

Lewis, Matthew Gregory, 405 

Leyden, John, 412 

Liberty of Prophesying," 74 

Licentiousness, Sterne's, 229 

Life of Shelley, 53, 432, 45 1, 455 ; 
Clarendon, 69 ; Fuller, 71 ; Wy- 
cherley, 73 ; Butler, 73 ; Sander- 
son, 86 ; PopCj 105 ; Congreve, 
122 ; Bentley, 130 ; Prior, 136, 
137 ; Garrick, 15 1, 283 ; A. Phil- 
lips, 151 ; Sir J. Reynolds, 192, 
232, 252, 226, 300 ; Savage, 201 ; 
Bacon, 208 ; Franklin, 214 ; Wil- 
kie, 225 ; Lord Charlemont, 227 ; 
Hannah More, 231 ; Rowland 
Hill, 235, 319 ; Mrs. Carter, 246 ; 
Bp. Hurd, 253 ; Lady Hunting- 
don, 253 ; Gibbon, 304, n. ; T, 
Campbell ; 306, 448 ; Johnson, 
313, n. ; Combe, 315 ; W. Ros= 
coe, 331 ; C, Mathews, 336,435, 
439 ; Arch. Coxe, 356 ; Sir W. 
Scott, 362, 390, 422 ; Sir J. Mac- 
kintosh, 370 ; Charlotte Bronte, 
499 

" Livery Muse," The, 196, n. 
" Lives," Wakon's, 58 

of the Chancellors," 78 
,, of the Poets," 168, 250 
Lindsay, Sir D., 11, 12 
" Literar)^ Anecdotes," 254 

,, Magazine, 25 

,, Club, 296 

,, Gazette, 384 
Locke, J., 99, 108, 120 
Lockhart, J., 100, 346, 390, 405 
Lockier, Dean, 97 
Lodge, 25 

London in 1700, 202, n-. 

,, ; a poem, 223 
Longfellow, H. W., 463, 481 
Loss, L Newton's, 109 
'* Love in a Village," 298 
Love, Prior's, 136 



510 



Index. 



Lowell, J. R., iSi, 425,445, 459, 

464, 467, 476, 483, 491, 499 
Lowth, Dr., 133 
Lucretius, 97 
*' Lusiad," 297 
Lushington, G., 363 
Luther, Knox's resemblance to, 15 
Lutheranism, EfTects of on More, 8 
** Lycidas," 67 

Lyb% 24 

Lyrist, Moore as a, 421 
Lyttleton, Lord, 210, 215, 222, 22S 
Lytton, Lord, 33, 66, 176, 1S8, 405, 
420, 434, 440, 452, 478, 479, 484 



ATACAULLV, Mr.",., 152 

Macanlay, l.ord, 8, 10, 19, 21, 
22, 27, 33, 41, 55, 61, 66, 69, 72, 
77, 80, 85, 89, 91, 94, 98, 103, 
105, 107, 109, 112, 118, 120, 
122, 126, 128, 131, 139, 143, 
144, 146, 148, 151, 162, 167, 
168, 201, 206, 208, 219, 224, 
240, 243, 274, 2S1, 2S5, 290, 
309, 31 1» 317, 332, 334, 338. 
351, 354, 372, 376, 3S3, 39^^, 
400, 402, 413, 425, 427, 434, 

449, 464, 469 
Macaulay, Zachar}-, 471, //. 
Mackay, Charles, 464, 495 
Mackenzie, Sir George, 28 
Heniy, 53, 265 

Macflecknoe," 96 
Mackintosh, Sir James, 9, 205, 221, 

226, 239, 285, 301, 303, 370, 

371, 374 
T^Lacklin, Charles, 190 
Machine, Dr., 93, 116, 142, 147, 

167, 212 
Macpherson, James, 306 
M'Crie, Thomas, 1 1, 15 
Madden, Dr., 311, 327, 404, 416, 

444, 474, 478, 481, 489, 492, 495 
Madness, 266 
Maginn, Dr., 456 
Mahon, Lord, 129, 198 
Mak>ne, E., 284, 340, 377 
Malthus, T. R., 407 
Malthusian Doctrine, 407 
Mallet, D., 131, 183, 208 
Mandeville, Dr., 153 
Mansfield, Lord, 277 



I Marivaux, De, 216 
: Marlowe, C, 40 

" Marmion," 45 

Marriage, Addison's, 158, ;/. 
Byron's, 434 

Marryat, Captain, 452 
I Martineau, Harriet, 475, 496 
I Marvel, Andrew, 84 
' Massinger, P. 52 

Masson, David, 429, 469 

Mathews, Charles, 192, 366 

Mathias, 291, 341, 342 

Maurice, Rev. F. D., 471 
I Maxims, Dryden's, 97 

Maxwell, Dr., 108, 208, ;/. 
I Meanness, Addison's, 154, 155 
' " Medici, Life of Lorenzo de','' 343 

Med win, Capt., 367, 432 

Melville, James, 15 
. Memes, Dr., 290 
! " Memoirs of Duchess of Marl- 
I borough," 1 12, 138, 149, 164, 170 
I " Memoirs," Gibbon's, 209 
I Walpole's, 331 

' ., Lady Blessington's, 410, 
441, 446 

Memorials of Thomas Hood, 467 

Memor}', Wycherley's bad, 1 06 
,, Newton's, no 

"Men of Character," Jerrold's, 
440, n. 

Meres, 25 

Mickle, W. J., 243, 297 

*' Midsummer's Night's Dream," 79 

Milton, John, 29, 38, 64, 65 

Mind, Hazlitt's, 419 

" Minstrel," Beattie's, 299 

" Miscellanies," Fenton's, 173 

Mitford, M. R., 40, 50, 151, 362, 

364, 470, 484 
Moberley, Dr., 461 
" Modest Proposal," Swift's, 139, n. 
Mohocks, 439, n. 
Molyneux, 120 
" Moll Flanders, "91 
" Monk," The, 405 
Monk's Life of Bentley," 130, 132 
Montague, E. of Halifax, 126 
Montagu, Lady M., 144, 148, 156, 

180, 193, 215 
Montagu, Mrs., 251 
Montgomery, R., 53 

James, 352, 3S8 



Index. 



511 



Moore, Charles, 345 

„ T., 94, 105, 120, 255, 285, 
286, 298, 310, 325, 334, 346, 352, 
356, 383, 420, 426, 435, 449 
Moral Philosophy," Paley's, 318 

More, SirT., 6, 8 
,, Hannah, 24, 65, 77, 176, 189, 
213, 216, 240, 244, 246, 252, 291, 

3oo> 305. 3ii> 317, 319. 321, 324. 

370, 448, 471, n, 
Morley, H., 53, 119, 121, 125, 143, 

148, 172, 196 
Morrell, J. R., 464, 476 
Moses, Lord Bacon compared to, 

32 

Murray, Lord Advocate, 383 
Murphy, A., 218, 242, 293 
Muse, Wycherley's, 105 

My Friends and Acquaintances," 

452 



"NJAMBY Pamby, 151 
Name, a queer, 117 
Natural Theoiogy," Paley's, 317 
Naturalness, Steele's, 148 
** New Bath Guide," Anstey's, 273 

,, Whig Guide," 373 
New Monthly Magazine, 441, 
450 

Newman, John Henr}% 122 
Newton, Sir L, 107 

,, Humphrey, 110 
Nicholson, Bp., 71 

Night Thoughts, " Young's, 176 
**Noctes Ambrosianse, " 290, 429, 

w.,452, 453/465, 475, 488 

Noctes of Athenaeus, A Glance 

at," 429, n. 
Northcote, James, 268, 283 
North British Review, 322 
Notes, Hayley's, 324 
Notice of Theodore Hook, 436, 437, 

438 

Novels, Richardson's, 139 

, , Warburton's love of, 207, n ; 

Fielding's, 215 ; Sterne's, 229 ; 

D'Arblay's, 337; Mrs. Inchbald's, 
^ 345 ; W. Godwin's, 349 ; W. 

Beckford's, 356; Anne Radclifife's, 

369 ; Miss Edgeworth's, 374 ; 

Jane Austen's, 402 ; M. G. Lewis's, 



407 ; J. F. Cooper's, 445 ; Cap- 
tain Marryat's, 453 

" Novum Organum," i 

Nowell, Dr., 13 



r\ NANNY, wilt thou gang wi' 

^ me ?" 278 
" Observator, " L'Estrange's, 79 

Ode to the Royal Society," 82 
Oldham, 72 
Oldys, 25 

Oilier, Charles, 106, 180, 291 
Opie, Mrs., 434 
" Opus Majus," I 
Orations, E. Irving's, 448 
Orator, Addison's deficience as an, 
161 

"Oratory Transactions," Henley's, 
197 

Orford, Lord, see Walpole 
Origin of Edinburgh Review, 382 
Originality, Fuller's, 71 
*' Oroonoko," 113 
Orrer)% Lord, 140, 174 

Ossian," 307 
Ossory, Lord, 244 
Otway, T., 123 

Outre Mer," Longfellow's, 463 



PALEY, Dr., 317 

^ Pamela," Richardson's, 188 

P^ntisocracy," 397 

Paradise Lost," 64, 102 
Parnell, Dr., 170, 171 
Parr, Dr., 133, 217, 254, 255, 284, 

307, 325, 330, 342, 354,. 372 
Pascal compared with Collier, 122 
"Pastorals," Gay's, 188 
Patmore, P. G., 419, 452 
Patronage, Somers', 118 
Patten, Gay's origin of the, 186, n. 
"Paulo Purganti," 136 
Pemberton, Dr., 228 
" Pen and Ink Sketches," 455 
Pepys, Samuel, 22, 49, 56, 72, 80, 

83, 100, 103 
" Percy Anecdotes," 106, 107, 125, 

130, 197, 211,276 
Percy, Bishop, 219, 277, 282 
" Persian Lettei's," 222 



Lidex. 



*' Peler Simple," Marryal's, 453 
Peterborough, Lord, 87 
Phillimore, R., 223 
Phillips, Ambrose, 151 

,, John, 168 
Philosophical writings. Bacon's, 33 
Pictures, Hogarth's, 204; Reynolds's, 
269 

'* Piers Plowman," 5 
Piety, R. Boyle's, 86 
" Pilgrim's Progress,^' 90. 

Pindarics," Cowley's, 8 1 
Piozzi, Madame, 129, 172, 274, 217, 

231, 252, 274, 281, 285, 303^305. 

309, 362, 386 
Pinkerton, Mr. 12 
Plagiarisms, Coleridge's, 394 
Plays, Bail lie's, Joanna, 361 

,, Beaumont's and Fletcher s 
49 

Bickerstaflc's, I., 298 
Buckingham's, I>ord, 88 
Colman's, George, 365 
Congreve's, \V., 144 
Cumberland's, 295 
Dryden's, John, 98 
Farquhar's, 103, 
,, Hay ley's, \V., 324 
Jonson's, Ben, 47 
,, Lee's, Nathaniel, 125 
Lewis's, M. G., 407 
Massingcr's, 52 
Ot way's, 123 
Rowe's, Nicholas, 105 
Shakspeare's, 35 
Sheridan's, R. B., 336 
., Vanbrugh's, Sir J., 13S 
Webster's, 53 
Wycherley's, 104 
Playfair, Professor, 32 
Pleasures of Hope,'' 412 

,, of Imagination,'' 239 
Poe, Edgar Allan, 481, 491 
Poetical Magazine, 316 
Poetiy, Addison's, 161, 
Anstey's, C, 273 
,, Baillie's, Joanna, 361 
Beattie's,"299 
Bowies', W. L., 359 
Browning's, E. B., 483 
,, Bryant's, 466 
Butler's, S., 73 
Bums', 352 



Poetry, Byron's, 432 

Campbell's, T., 409 
,, Chatterton's, T., 340 

Churchill's, 293 

Coleridge, S. T., 394 
M Hartley, 466 

,, Cowley's, 81 
,, Cowper's, 291 

Crabbe's, 346 

Donne's, Dr., 43 

Dr)'den's, 96 
., F^lliott's, E., 423 

Falconer's, 290 
„ Gay's, J., 186 

Gifford's, 351 

Goldsmith's, 283 

Gray's, 240 

Ilayley's, 323 

1 lemans', 454 

Il^gg's J., 3S9 

Holmes', O. W., 484 

Hood's, T., 468 

Hunt's, L., 427 

Keats's, 458 

I.andon's, L. 474 

Landor's, W. S., 403 
,, Longfellow's, 482 
,, Lowell's, J. R., 499 

Lyly's, 25 

Mackay's, Charles, 495 

Marvel's, A., 84 

Moore's, Thomas, 420 
,, Montgomery's, J., 388 

Pamelas, 171 

Percy's, Dr., 277 
,, Poe's, E. A., 491 

Proctor's, W. B., 446 
.. Rochester's, Lord, 116 
,, Roger's, 367 

Scott's, Sir W., 385 
,, John, 289 

Shelley's, 449 

Shenstone's, 232 

Southey's, R., 396 
,, Spenser's, 26 
., Tennyson's, 485 
,, Thomson's, 21 1 
,, Waller's, 62 
,, Wolcot's, 506 
,, Wordsworth's, 381 
,, Young's, 177 
Politics, Swift's share in, 140 
Political character, Addison's, 16 



Index, 



S13 



Pomp of diction, Johnson's, 217 
Poor Robin," Franklin's, 214 

Pope, A., 5, 19, 27, 34, 39, 60, 66, 
78, 81, 96, 102, 105, 108, 123, 
124, 127, 131, 134, 137. 140, 
161, 163, 166, 171, 173, 175, 
176, 177, 180, 184, 193, 197. 
210, 242 

Popularity, Banyan's, 92 ; Shaftes- 
bury's, 147 

Forson, R., 131, 354 

" Porsoniana," 131, 305, 326 

Porteus, Bishop, 244, 317 

Preaching, Whitfield's, 335 

Priestley, Dr., 296, 303 ^ 

Pride, Boswell's, 314, n. 

Prior, M., 75, 135 

Sir James, 169, 171, 249, 
258, 282, 308 

Proctor, B. W., 400, 446 

Psalmanazar, George, 172 

Puns, Hood's, 467 



QUAKERS, 85 
Quarterly Review, 4, 5, 27, 
37, 44, 75, 83, 94, 100, 195, 206, 
207, 222, 224, 229, 292, 296, 
347, 357, 361, 364, 371, 392, 
401, 404, 417, 441, 459, 403, 
472, 483, 484, 493, 497 
Quibbles, Fuller's love of, 71 
Quin, James, 242 



RABELAIS, 5 
Race," The, Shaw's, 218 
Radcliffe, Mrs., 369 
Raleigh, Sir W., 19 
" Rambler, The," 221, n. 
"Rake's Progress," 205 
Ramsay, Allan, 178 
" Rape of the Lock," 182 
Reach, Angus B., 496 
Reasoning, Fox's power of, 339 
Recollections of the Lords and 
Commons," 418 
"Recollections," C. Lamb's, 436 
" Records of a Dramatic Veteran," 
391 

"Recreations of C. North," 212 
Redding, Cyrus, 372, 411, 416, 418 



Reed, Isaac, 88 

Reformation in Scotland, ii 

" Rehearsal, The," 88 

Reliability of Pepys' "Diary," lOi 

" Religio Medici," 63 

Religion, Wordsworth's, 381 

" Relique's," Percy's, 277 

" Remarks on Combe's Statements," 

Parr's, 326 
Reresby, Sir J., 88 
Resemblance between Roger Bacon 

and Lord Bacon, i 
Retrospective Review, 104 
Review, Monthly, 289 
Reynolds, Sir J., 137, i8i", 185, 

206, 268 
Reynolds, Miss, 251, 309 
Rhymer, The Corn-Law, 423 
Richardson, S., 188 
" Richardsoniana, " 136 
Ridley, Bp., 15 
" Rimini, Story of," 427 
Ritson, 183 

Ritualism, Laud's advocacy of, 41 
" Rival Queens," Lee's, 125 
Roberts, W., 301, 322 
Robertson, Dr. W., 14, 256, 257, 
303 

" Robinson Crusoe, 133 

Rochester, Earl of, 18, 95, 103, 
105, 115, 123 

Rodney, Lord, 297 

Rogers, Samuel, 20, 52, 67, 177, 
183, 240, 275, 294, 295, 296, 
298, 299, 319, 324, 326, 330, 
336, 354, 367, 372, 383, 393, 
397, 406, 433, 441 

"Rolliad, The," 341 

Romilly, Sir S., 329 

" Rosamund Gray," 400 

Roscoe, W., 342, 352 
„ T., 343 

Roscommon, Earl of, 102 

Rose, Mrs., 323 

Rosetti, W. M., 468 

Rowe, Nicholas, 138, 165 

Rowley Poems, The, 340 

" Rural Sports," 187, n. 

Ruskin, John, 59, 481, 500 

Russell, Earl, 325, 373, 383, 386, 
n,, 421, 430, 434 

Rust, Dr., 75 

Ryland, 90 

L L 



Index. 



CACHEVEREL, Dr., 152 
*^ Sagacity, Warburton's, 208 
Saint, Cranmer as a, 10 
Sanderson, Bp., 53, 54 
Satires, Dr. Donne's, 44 
Satirist, Langland a great, 5 
Savage, R., 126, 173, 177, 180, 193, 

200, 210 
Scaliger, 130 
Schlcgel, 418 
Scliolar, a good old, 13 
" Schoolmaster, The," 12 
Scoble, A. K., 499 
Scotland's greatest poet, 6 
Scott, Sir Walter, 25, 64, 68, 97, 
100, 115, 123, 133, 13S, 1S3, 203, 
216, 281, 308, 325, 338, 347, 351, 
352, 375. 3^1, 3S4, 393. 412, 421, 
425. 43i» 433' 440, 445 
Scott, John, 2S8, 300, 342 
Scnipuluus style, Fcjx's, 331 
Scr)'megeuur, D., 2, 6, 12 
Scuderi, Mademoiselle, 30 
** Seasons, The," 210 
Secret piety, Swift's, 139 
Sedgwick, 370 
Sedley, Sir C, 102 
Selden, T., 44, 48 
Senior, N. W., 409 
Sensibility, Parr's, 326 
Sermons, Hooker's, 23 

,, Barrow's, 94 

,, Atterbur)-'s, 128 

,, Blair's, 247 
Hurd's, 253 

,, Rowland Hill's, 320 
Robert Hall's, 370 
Ser^-etus, 296 

*' Session of the Poets,'' 123 
Settle, E., 117 

Seward, A. M., 216, 309, 387 
Shadwell, T., 35, 103 
Shaftesbury, Lord, 146 
Shakspeare, W,, 8, 27, 35 

Shakspeare and his Friends," 20 
Shaw, C, 208, 218, 249, 293, 298 
Sheffield, Lord, 304 
Sheils, 210 
Sheldon, Dr., 54 

Shelley, P. B., 65, 305, 364, 379, 
393. 397. 408, 427, 431. 433. 44^ 
Shelley, Mrs., 450 
Shensfone, W., 219, 232 



I ''Shepherd's Week," Gay's, 188 

! Sherlock, Dr., 106 

I Sheridan, R. B., 201, 242, 275, 286, 

i 303. 333. 

Sheridan, Thomas, 220, 254 

''Shipwreck, The," 289 

Shopman, Gay as a, 184, n. 

" Short View," Collier's, 122 

Shrewsbury, Lady, 87 

Sidney, Sir P., 30 
,, Rev. M., 320 

"Simple Story," Inchbald's, 345 

Sincerity, Sir W^ Temple's, 90 

" Sir Cauline," 277 

" Sir Martin," 298 
i Skelton, T., 5 

Skinner, 4 

Smart, Chr., 217, 237, 266 
Smeton, 15 

Smith, Alex., 2, 6, 28, 66, 102, 217, 

224, 256, 281, 315, 401, 418 
Smith, Kilnumd, 168 
Aflam, 270 

Sydney, 55, 56, 75, 121, 130, 
; 175, 195, 214,^48, 318, 321, 325, 
I 328, 329, 335. 371. 374. 382, 407. 
' 416, 420, 470 
I Smollett, T., 223, 260 
' Smythe, Prof., 224 

Socinianism, 74, n. 

Somers, Lord, 118 

Somerville, 179 

Sonnets, Milton's, 65 

Southey, R., 5, 31, 275, 290, 319, 
372, 391. 392, 396, 408, 433 

Southerne, T., 113 
i " Spectator " The, 108, 121 
' Spence's Anecdotes, 194 
! Spenser, E., 21, 26, 30, 35 
I " Spirit of the Age," 349 
' "Spoiled Child," 298 

" Splendid Shilling," the, 168 
I " Sporus," 180 

Sprat, Dr., 80 

Stage at the Restoration, 64 

Stanhope, Earl, see Mahon 
Hon. Philip, 198 
Colonel, 433 

Stanley, Dean, 462 

State Trials, 20 

Steele, Sir R., 126, 147, 149, 155 

Steevens, 218 

Sterne, Laurence, 22S, 241 



Index, 



515 



Stewart, Dr., 33, 370 

St. John, J. A., 100 

Stillingfleet, 21 

Stockdale, P., 62 

Streatham Gallery, 281, n. 

Strangers, Addison among, 156 

Strype, 18 

Stukeley, Dr., 100 

Sully, The English, 69 

Style, Taylor's, 76 ; Baxter's, 76 ; 

Temple's, 89 ; Bunyan's, 92 ; 

Tillotson's, 93 ; Rowe's, 165 ; 

Blair's, 248 ; Goldsmith's, 283 ; 

Cowper's, 291 ; Gibbon's, 304 ; 

Paley's, 318 ; Bentham's, 327 ; 

Fox's, 331 ; Roscoe's, 343 ; Cob- 

bett's, 364 ; R. Hall's, 370 ; 

Junius's, 378 ; Southey's, 396 ; 

Lamb's, 401 ; Carlyle's, 462 ; 

Macaulay's, 470 
Swift, J., 89, 112, 124, 126, 131, 

134, 135. 138, 142, 163, 167, 174, 

176, 180, 184, 218 
Sycophant, Dryden a, 97 
*' Syntax, Dr.," origin of, 316 



-pABLE TALK," Coleridge's, 
38, 51, 74, 221, 373, 402, 408 
Table Talk," Rogers', 113, 195, 
206, 225, 242, 305, 306, 310, 316, 
3i7» 377 

Table Talk," Cowper's, 292 
Talker, Coleridge as a, 393 
Talfourd, T. N., 52, 382, 420 
**Tale of a Tub," 141 
Tales of my Landlord," 386 
Tales of Terror," Lewis's, 407 
Tate, N., 124 

**Tatler," Steele's, 148; obligation 

of Actors to, ibid 
Taylor, Jeremy, 74 

„ William, 325, 371, 392, n. 
Temple, Sir W., 89, 131 
,, Rev. Mr., 239 

Temple," Herbert's, 59 
Tennyson, Alfred, 379, 479, 484 
Thackeray, W. M., 89, 126, 136, 

139, on Swift, 139, 144, 148, 151, 

163, 164, 168, 182, 186, 190, 204, 

216, 218, 230, 278, 488. 
Theobald, Lewis, 180, 183 
* ' Theodosius, " Lee's, 125 



Theory of Matter, Bishop Berkeley's, 
175 

Thistlethwaite, 340 

Thomson, James, 210 

Thrale, see Piozzi 

Theatre, Addison at the, 159, n. 

Thurlow, Lord, 31 

Tickell, T., 162 

Tierney, 335 

Tillotson, Archb., 92, 1 13 

Timbs, John, 333, 350 

"Times, The," 479 

" Tobacco, Lamb's Farewell Ode 

to," 400 
" Tom Jones," 215 
Tonson, J,, his epitaph, 214 
Tooke, Home, 67, 226, 301, 334, 

354 

Toplady, A. M., 319 

Townshend, G., 17 

,, Lady, 244 

Transubstantiation, 7 

"Traveller, The," 279, n. 

" Treatise on the Pope's Supre- 
macy," 94 

Treatise of Theology, 166 

Treatment of Roger Bacon, i ; of 
Gay, 185, n. 

Trench, R. C, 382 

" Trip to Calais, The," 262 

" Tristram Shandy," 230 

"Triumphs of Temper," 323 

"Trivia," 185, n. 

Trollop e, Anthony, 490 

Tuckerman, H. T., 499 

" Twopenny Post-bag," The, 420 

TTNNATURAL Affectation, 
^ Lyly's, 25 
" Urim," 128 
Usher, Archbp., 49 
" Utopia," 6 

WANBRUGH, Sir J., 137 
^ Vanity, Bentham's, 327, n. 
" Vathek," 356 
Venables, G. S., 363 
Versatility, Lady Montagu's, 193 
Verulam, see Bacon 
Vertue, 118 
Virgil, 29 

Vulgarity, Pepys', ick> 



5i6 



Index. 



WAINWRIGHT, Mr., 467 

Walker, Professor, 351 
Waller, Edmund, 3, 28, 30, 60, 66, 
79 

Walpole, II., 19, 30, 82, 97, 100, 
I30» I37» 150. 156, i7o» 175. 194, 
195. 199, 219, 222, 230, 239, 241, 
243, 280, 287, 294, 315, 322, 342 

*' Wal]>oliana," 244 

Walion, Isaac, 23, 33, 40, 43, 54, 
57» 59, 86 

** Wanderer," Savage's, 173, 193 

** Wanderer of Switzerland," Mont- 
gomer)''s, 388 

Warburlon, Hishop, 37, 76, 165, 
206, 208, 216, 217, 243 

Ward, 35 

Warton, T. .V: J., 2, 3, 6, 18, 26, 
44, 60, 68, 81, 86, 88, 96, 102, 
116, 128, 131, 150, 156, 164, 
165, 167, 169, 173, 174, 182, 
185, 211, 280, 340 

Watts, Isaac, 166 

** Way of the World," Congreve's, 
143 

*' Wealth of Nations," 272 
Webbe, W., 25 
Webster, John, 53 
Wei wood, 165 
Wesley, Charles, 72 
Wharton, Grace, 83, 194, 311, 383, 
473 

Whig Ministr>'," Roebucks, 386, 
417 

\\ hippie, Dr., 484 
Whiston, W., 142 
Whitaker, 14, 16, 258 
Whitgift, Bishop, 22 
Whitehead, W., 269, 293 

P., 223 
Whitefoot, J., 63 
Whitfield, G., 233 
Whittier, Mr., 484 
Wicklevian, Chaucer a, 4 



Wilberforce, W., 195 
Wilkes, J., 117, 241, 274, 315 
Wilkie, W., 256 
Wilkinson, Tate, 264 
Will, Bentham's, 329 
Will's Coffee-house, 96 
Willis, N. P., 421, 442, 477, 4S0, 
482, 491 

Wilson, John, 25, 92, 108, 251, 352, 

389, 394, 414, 422, 424, 425, 428, 

433' 466 
Wiseman, Cardinal, 482 
Wit, Blackmore's definition of, 121 

,, Wilkie's, 277 

,, Sydney Smith's, 383 

,, Lamb's, 401 
Wolcot, Dr., 97, 305, 309, 345 
Wolsey, Cardinal, 8 
Women, Addison's opinion of, 157 
Wordsworth, W., 3, 58, 66, 97, 
152, 210, 285, 307, 341, 379, 

384, 391, 396, 413' 45 5» 465 
World's recognition of Bacon, 34 
Wood, Anth., 26, 60 
Woodward, H., 237 
Works, R. P.axter's, 76 

,, Probable value of Scott's, 

387 

Wotton, Sir H., 40, 65 
I Wraxall, Sir N., 220, 309 ; his 
I " Posthumous Memoirs," 337, 

377, 378 
Wright, T., 152, 196, 
Writing, Fuller's habit of, 71 
Writings, Locke's, 99 ; Swift's, 139 ; 

Steele's, 148 
Wycherley, W., 104 

YALDEX, Dr., 145, n. 
Young, Dr. E., 37, 117, 124, 
138, 163, 176, 177 

20UCH, Dr. T., 58 



6. 



THE END. 



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